The Calling
by planet p
Summary: AU; Tru's not feeling herself, lately. Then, neither is Jack... Tru/Jack, sort of... maybe... finally! Other pairings: Davis/Carrie, Jensen/Meredith **On Hold** Just thought I'd let you guys know - Sorry!
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Call

Author: planet p

Fandom: Tru Calling

Disclaimer: I don't own _Tru Calling_ or any of its characters. Nope, none of it. Good good. Moving on... This may be weird (just saying)... Um, don't think I've written anything TC before, so just be prepared for OOC-ness. Also, I've only seen parts of both seasons, not all of 'em... Ugh!

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><p>Tru sighed, frowning up at the ceiling. Another day, another morning lying in bed alone, wondering if it was always going to be the same, if she was always going to be alone, separated from those she could have - would have - loved... if not for this... this "calling". She wasn't angry about it, about what she had to do, what she <em>could<em> do - she _loved_ it, loved helping people, _saving_ them - just sad. She was just sad. Yes, she had her happy moments. Plenty of happy moments, she thought now, but... But yet something was still missing.

Love.

Romantic love, true love. Her soulmate!

Her other half.

Some days, the sky was sunny and blue, the sun shone down brightly and warmed the end of her nose, her cheeks, but the day barely touched her, barely registered with her. She was walking around with such a deep, dark emptiness inside her, knowing that this feeling wasn't right, this feeling of only ever being half alive, but not knowing what to do about it, how to... bring herself to life.

Some days, she just wish she knew the answer.

She'd been happy with Luc. She'd loved Luc. But then Luc had died, and she'd stayed behind; she'd lived. And that was how it was meant to be. In this life, at least, their love story had come to a cruel, abrupt ending. (Thanks, Ja_ck_! Luv ya work - heavy emphasis on the sarcasm!)

Stifling a repeat sigh, she sat up and got ready for the day. The truth was, she really didn't hate Jack. He was messed up, but she didn't hate him. Sometimes, it hurt her to imagine the sort of person he might have been before his "calling". And it hurt her that he'd been led to believe what he had. Anyone could see it hurt him, even if he'd never admit it in so many words. He'd always deflect such assessments with: It's my job. It's tough, but someone's gotta do it - for the good of the universe.

That always killed her a little bit inside. Sometimes she even found herself wanting to find that person and get all up in their face and roust them out for messing up the poor boy like that. It just wasn't fair!

Still, Jack believed what Jack believed. And she believed what she believed.

They would never see eye-to-eye on that particular subject. On a multitude of other topics, who knew. Sure, she bet they would. But on that particular subject - life and death - nope, not a chance in hell.

She yawned, picking up her cup of coffee from the kitchen table and taking a sip. The world went on, life and death still happened all around them, no matter whether they were taking notice or not, and she had another exciting day to look forward to, she reminded herself.

Oh, the excitement!

Truthfully, she did enjoy doing what she did. Helping people, helping them to live the lives that were intended for them.

But that was work. And she knew that she, too, had a life outside of work. There was her brother, Harrison, who she loved to bits, who would always stand by her, in his own way, no matter what. There was Davis, a true friend, and, consequently, her boss. Other than that, she didn't know too many other people she'd have called "friends".

Associates, sure. Friends, not so much. And certainly no lover.

Ugh! She bowed her head and tried to pull herself together.

Jeez, she was really mopey today about this being single thing, wasn't she?

Someone would come along, she always told herself, just as she'd told Lindsay. And someone had - for Lindsay! And for her... he just hadn't stayed. _Cheer up, Tru_, she told herself, today no different from any other day. _The way you're goin', he'll come along and be come and gone by the time you even notice; you're way, way out-o'-sorts, girl. Lighten up!_

She laughed to herself, giggling at her half-empty mug of coffee.

Lighten up, huh? Well, she always did have a smile for the right person, and a glare for the wrong (or could you say "right", too). She always did.

Just not for herself, she thought.

Just not for Tru.

_Poor Tru_, she mused to herself, half comically. _Maybe someone else will have a smile for you today, girl._

Of course, when she'd thought that, she hadn't thought it could be Jack. Jack, her self-sworn enemy. Smiling at her. Or - gasp; _Um? Seriously?_ - _because_ of her! Nope, it had to be a trick! He was good with them tricks. Always good with the tricks.

_H-h-h! Asking how my day's been? That sounds about right for you, Jackie, old boy. Same old, same old, eh! Arrogant, gloating..._

She narrowed her eyes just so - he always loved when she did that; she could tell by the look in his eyes, he always thought, _Here she goes! Never the quitter! Round - Ya know what? I've lost count - it is!_ And yeah, it sorta amused her, in a far off, distant part of her mind. Sometimes, they were like children... Always bickering, hanging on each other's responses, just waiting for provocation, permission to feel alive, to feel _something_, to take part in _something_, to spit back!

She was all geared up with a suitably hateful, heated response, too. Raring an' ready to go. But a cool wind breezed past, reminding her how hot her cheeks were, how they were practically on fire. Reminding her how silly they must have looked standing on the street corner with their pretend smiles and pretend "I hate you"s which might have been real or just pretend. Either, really. They were both so caught up in the game that sometimes they got carried away, sometimes they forgot what was real and what wasn't. But, at that moment, Tru suddenly felt the ground beneath her feet, felt her heart thudding too fast.

Felt the something real calling to her through all of the lies, through the high, heavily-barricaded walls of the facades they'd both constructed around themselves. For show or protection. She felt it take her hand, just barely, a ghost of a touch, and lead her forward. Forward, just a step, maybe not even that, maybe two or three. Forward, anyway. Closer to Jack.

He only smiled all the more, wondering what tack she was going to try and use on him now. Poor thing, didn't see the light in her eyes, the burn of her cheeks, or if he did, he mistook it for something it wasn't. He didn't understand, just at that moment, though it was a warm and sunny day, she was cold, so cold inside, and he felt warm to her, and she only wanted to be closer, a little bit closer, closer to something warm, to him.

He was still thinking of their jobs, of the "pact", the never-ending game that wasn't (in fact) a game at all. He was thinking, _How can I turn this around so I can win?_

He was predictable, in that sense. Always thinking _How can I win?_

He didn't see how Tru had switched over from thinking about work to thinking about how she was a person and he was a person and they were both, in reality, quite lonely, and, at times, quite sad... and how she thought he could be funny and cute and he'd made her smile a couple of times, back before she'd known he was her enemy - and maybe, secretly, he still did, on occasion.

He was seeing none of that, lost in his thoughts, predicting the likeliest outcome to come. How was she planning on winning this round? How could he throw all of her efforts back in her face and win instead?

It was only a couple of steps, if that. Neither of them felt it threatening, not really. In a way, it might even have been considered playful (even though Tru professed to hating Jack quite a lot, just quietly... just privately, to herself). Part of the game.

Every other day...

But today.

Because today, Tru didn't have any angry words, any speeches, any retorts, to make. She was lonely, cold - cold, inside her soul, she realised, something that should have been there was missing, something that should have been around to keep her warm - and Jack, he made her feel something. Alive. He looked so... alive... so warm.

Deep down, she knew he wasn't a bad, bad person. And if she was kidding herself, she would soon see. She would soon see, she told herself, a fraction of a second before Jack stopped smiling - what was she up to, now? - and she pressed her lips to his, her body to hers, and it was... nice. Comfortable. Not threatening. Strange, how that worked out.

"Are you nuts?"

That was Jack, his blue eyes wide, so alive. Her lips were no longer pressed to his. She was cold again. Bummer! He was holding her at arm's length, giving her a wild, freaked out look like she was crazy now, or something (like he'd ever considered her anything else... unless... nah!).

She was annoyed that he was holding her arms, that she couldn't just mooch on over to him and start kissing him again. She'd liked that. But he wasn't letting up with the crazy-person-on-my-hands look.

And even though she pretended not to, she still felt her heart sink to the pavement and stop beating, stone cold dead. Yup, he didn't share her feelings. Or worse: he thought her behaviour was a deliberate ploy to "win", to distract him from his work even though it had nothing at all to do with _work_!

She felt insulted. Tears stung at the back of her eyes. Suddenly, his hands on her arms felt a little too much like painful... like, "I don't trust you", or "You won't win, you know? You're not strong, like me", or "It would never work, even if I felt the same way you did; would never work". She wanted to cry... a whole heap...

But she didn't.

Instead, she laughed. Trying desperately to make it sound real, but unreal, too. Trying desperately to fake it. _You didn't hurt me. As if. It was all just a game I was playing. Nothing more. Look at you: the sore loser again! Have you seen your face?_

"You're laughing now!" he growled, the anger, the hostility in his voice hurting her, turning her to ice, to stone, and breaking her apart all in one fell swoop - snow on the wind, melting eventually to nothing, water on the ground; dust, dust on the ground, indistinguishable from the rest of it, from everything else.

She wasn't special; she didn't make anyone laugh, or smile; nobody's heart sped up that tiny bit when they saw her... she had a job... and she did it. She just _did it_. She was nobody's sunshine, or sweetheart. She even kissed a guy and he freaked out like she was mad, loony - insane, boys! Oh, boy! Ohboyohboyohboy!

Tru couldn't stop laughing. If she did, she was afraid she'd start on crying, that she wouldn't be able to keep the tears at bay, then. And that would massively, honestly suck in present company.

"Tru. Tru!"

Someone was shaking her now, holding onto her arms like she was a little kid and shaking her, trying to make her see some sense - yeah, right - or just their point of view. She didn't care; she just kept laughing. It hurt a bit now, but she couldn't stop. Like maybe she was some wind-up toy and she hadn't played out her last rewind... unwind...

Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. So funny! Wasn't it just so - ha ha - funny? But it was, right?

"Tru, you crazy chick! Quit your laughin' before I decide to up and take offence!"

Someone was shouting at her now. Don't care, she thought to herself. Though that wasn't strictly true. Tears prickled her eyes, wiggling their way to the front of her eyes and spilling out onto her cheeks.

Whoever had been shouting at her earlier and shaking her stopped. She distantly took note of this, only distantly. Her vision was blurry, too blurry to make out much now, even if she'd cared to try and make anything out. She didn't, but still.

"Hey! Tru..."

The voice was softer. Maybe even caring. She _didn't_ care. Not about the person who'd spoken to her. But about herself... yeah. She shook her head suddenly, dislodging some of the tears, and pulled her arms free, turning and fleeing along the footpath, unsteady on her feet but not caring. She just knew she had to get away from the person who'd made her cry - she didn't care about anything else.

"Tru..." Jack moaned loudly, genuinely frustrated with her strange behaviour. Then he had an idea, "What was that, huh? One of your clever ideas?" he shouted after her, suddenly angry. "How to unsettle Jack! Huh? Oh, sure, run away! Go on! Run! It's what you do best, isn't it!" By the time he'd stopped shouting, Tru was nowhere to be seen and he felt a little deflated. He hadn't really meant to drive her away; he'd really wanted to ask her what was going on - what was wrong - and have her answer him back truthfully. But, as if.

He sighed, dropping his shoulders in resignation. Yeah, like that little incident wasn't going to make life ten times more awkward from now on. If that was what she'd been going for, he had to say, she'd sure scored. Yay for Tru! Sucks for you, Jack.

He sighed, turning on the spot. "Hmmm. You didn't even answer my question, Tru. Don't think I've forgotten. Yeah, like I would forget. The basics, the formalities, when I know how much you detest them, how much they get under your skin..." He shook his head at himself, wondering why he was even pretending to still be talking to someone who wasn't even around anymore, who'd run away... from him.

Spinning around, he set off down the sidewalk in the opposite direction Tru had gone, whistling to himself. If he was whistling, he couldn't be running his mouth. If he was whistling, he wouldn't have to listen to the confused thoughts racing around in his head. Almost wouldn't have to listen to them, anyway.

He could still remember what Tru's lips had felt like pressed against his own, what _she_'d felt like. He'd almost been tempted to put his arms around her, to draw her closer to him, to hold her. But he'd refrained at the last moment, reminding himself how crazy a move like Tru's was, how it could only be another one of her little games, her little ploys, and how Tru's funny, little ploys (as funny, as cute, as nose-wrinkling as they were) never worked on him. Nada. Not a jot, not an inch. Not ever. And he'd taken hold of her arms, instead, very nearly wanting to cry, though it was beyond irrational. Way waaaay beyond irrational.

And then Tru had started bawling her eyes out and pelted away. Seeing her like that, seeing her so upset and confused and alone, and running away, it had kinda made him wish he'd kept her in his arms, but he just _knew_ it was a ploy. Just knew! Hoped her father wasn't hanging around watching the proceeding, readying to jump down his throat for it. Because that would've been... hooo, scary. Even for him. Richard, in a mood. Chilly.

Tru, he could usually handle. Most times, he did fine with the girl. Even in dark, angry, vengeful place. _She_ was human. Richard, Jack wasn't entirely sold. Catch that guy in a mood, and that would be one day Jack would rather have stayed in bed.

Just now, just _thinking_ about it, he kinda got the chills. Kinda got paranoid he was being watched, couldn't resist a quick sweep of the area. Just a quick one, not a really thorough, searching one like he would have liked. Couldn't stick around though, had things to do; places to be. He kept walking, wondering again what Tru's angle was. Or maybe she was just plain nuts? Maybe the job had finally got to her?

He laughed derisively to himself. Yeah right. Tru was tougher than that. She was like... tough! Russian tank-tough. You threw stuff at her, she just stuck her tongue out and gave you this look like, _What, that the best you got, boy-O._ She was a seriously... challenging co-worker, if that was the correct term. Which made it all the more weird her odd behaviour before, her kissing him an' all.

He laughed again, sighing heavily to himself. "She's trying to mess with you, man," he told himself. "Don't you let her, Jack! Don't you let her win!"

Sitting down for a cup of coffee, half an hour later, he felt slightly miserable. Didn't know why, just did. Ten minutes later, when he still hadn't finished more than half of his coffee, he began to suspect a larger, deeper plot at work here. A far scarier plot. Well, he knew all about all that Life and Death stuff, and about how it was controlled (or supposed to be controlled) by Fate... but what about... love.

After that, he kinda got turned off his coffee, thinking about Tru and he really being Fated to fall in love an' all. It killed him inside. He could just imagine the happy look on Tru's face when she saw him for the first time some day whenever, and it was so, so wrong! Tru - happy! Because of him! And... and... him happy, too. Because of that bean-mad girl! God no! God NO!

But his mind wouldn't quit with the warm, fuzzy moments dross. It was starting to make him feel ill inside. Like he could throw up, right there at the table. He wished he could take back his thoughts, take back the whole day. _Oh, please, somebody just die and ask for Tru's help!_ he thought desperately, a little wildly, he felt that sick, though it didn't help, thinking about Tru, or saying her name, if only in his thoughts.

He left his coffee at the table and escaped from the cafe, just needing to be outside, where there was air. Where he could breathe. It doesn't work like that; that's not how it works, he tried reassuring himself, but he was turning in circles. Actually turning in circles. He wanted to go one way, his feet wanted to go the other.

Traitors! They had Tru on the brain! Like it was suddenly set in stone, now. We do need Tru. It's true! And she needs us... you!

He felt sick again. What the heck! What had he ever done to deserve this? Why was he being punished like this, messed around like this? It was... inhuman!

Irrationally, he seized on someone to blame. It was that Harrison, he knew it! This was all Harrison's doing! He had some crazy... "calling", some crazy ability like his sister, Tru, and was using it for evil, thinking it would be the perfect revenge! _And you claim to love your sister! Ha!_ Jack wanted to find that little creep weasel and laugh in his face! Though, rationally, he knew it wasn't Harry's doing. _Sorry, bud. But you've got to admit, Har, you are a funny one. Wouldn't put it past you, I gotta say._

He turned around for what had to be the fiftieth time, willing himself to walk off in the opposite direction again, growling to himself, "What is going on?" It was beyond crazy! Tru was not a witch; she didn't have magical powers over him or anyone else! She was just a regular girl... woman. Oh, heck, whatever!

_Keep walking, Jack!_ he told himself angrily. And he did. Thankfully.

.

"Tru... You feeling tired?" Davis asked, walking into the room and spying Tru lying on the couch.

She sat up slowly, looking a bit pale, though it was hard to tell in the low light, and mumbled, "No. I think I'm coming down with something, though. I feel... strange."

"Yeah?" Davis walked over to the couch and sat down beside her, getting a closer look at her. She did look paler than usual. Placing a hand on her forehead, he frowned. She was kind of clammy, too. "You should probably..."

Tru shook her head. "It's not that bad, Davis. I... I bet it's nothing, really. A good couple hours of _proper_ sleep and I'll be back in the game, right as..." She trailed away, keen to avoid the overused simile. She sighed. "Sorry. How are you?"

"I'm alright."

She nodded. "I think I'll... get myself a glass of water..."

"A good idea," he replied, watching her walk away.

.

Right around the block, as if on autopilot. Then waiting. For what?, for who? He couldn't process such thoughts, nothing was working properly. He didn't want to be in this place... waiting for whoever. He wanted to be away - away from here! He wondered, for a moment, in a rare moment of lucidity, if he was going mad. That Tru and her tricks! She'd... she'd done something to him... wh-when she'd kissed him, he'd bet! S-something to do with her lipstick. That had to be it! She'd poisoned him! Gee, she was conniving alright, and he'd just fell right into her hilarious little tr-

A door nearby swung open. Someone out for a cigarette, probably. _Please!_ he thought desperately.

Nope. Tru. Looking miserable. Any minute she'd see him and a smile would break out on her face, wicked smile for a wicked girl; she'd gaze at him, marvelling at her handiwork, her utter skill. Except, she just went on looking miserable.

He wondered why. Was she suddenly going to start laughing like before? Walk over and laugh in his face? And why was he just standing here, waiting for it to happen.

Shutting the door after her, she started to shuffle over in his direction, staring at the dirty ground morbidly. She looked pale. It looked strange on her. He preferred happy, sunny Tru, not this pale, waxy one. Like she wasn't even the real Tru, just a... a phoney copy.

Maybe... maybe that was it, Jack thought wildly. This was all just a sad, very-creepy dream. Which was why Tru was acting so... weird, so un-Tru like. Yeah. Yeah, it had to be! Just a dream. He could even have believed that... had not, just that second, Tru shuffled closer and sorta started to lift up her hand, and he did the same thing - like a freakin' robot!

And how creepy, how plain stupid it must look, he thought, them two, just standing in that mucky alley, holding hands. Just holding hands.

_Oh God!_ he wanted to shout. _What's wrong with us?_ Then, more quietly, in a whimper, _Davis, please come and save us. This isn't right. I know you'll know that... if you... if you come out here and - please just hurry!_

But Davis wasn't really the sixth sense kinda guy, apparently, because he didn't come out and bust them holding hands - nor shoot them appalled looks, each of them, and scold them and bid them off to their (_separate!_) rooms, directly! Not even Richard, in fact. They just went on holding hands, 'til Tru kinda shuffled closer and rested her head on his shoulder for a second or two, sniffed, didn't even look at him, and shuffled away, taking her hand with her, back inside the door, back into the building.

Then he was alone. And he wanted to cry, or go running after Tru like a right idiot and beg her to reconsider, or whatever.

Crazy.

_Plain crazy_, he told himself, morbidly going on his way. _Yep, ya nuts, Jackie boy! Finally lost it, once an' fer all! Oh well..._

.

"You silly thing," Megan said, smiling at him and shaking her head. "It has nothing to do with love, Wumpy. I'll bet you thought Richard and Elise got together because of that old saying, eh: _Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer._ All part of the game. Is that what you thought?"

"No," he denied, (of course). "I hadn't really thought about it, in honestly." Wumpy? What did she mean 'Wumpy'?

"Liar," she laughed. "Anyway, getting back to... what I was trying to say..." She stopped talking, taking a moment to breathe, to move past the pain. Yes, it was a painful illness. He'd met her on a good day, but most of her days had been really rather lousy.

A minute, maybe two, maybe five minutes later, Megan perked up again and turned to meet his eye, no trace of pain in her features at all, bright as anything. "Tru might have inherited the Calling from her mom, but you didn't, Jack. Nobody gave it to you. It chose you. It chose you... for her." She leant closer, meeting his look of disgust with a stare, waiting for him to catch on to her meaning.

"Megan, my name is Jack, not Wumpy. And please try to talk... my language."

Megan smiled, quite enjoying herself now. "Shoulda held on, Jack. Shouldn'a let go. I could have helped you. I could've... held you back when you needed holding back. I would have been the One, not her. If you had wanted it. But you let It win. You let _her_ win! Now she's gonna have you, too, boy. She's gonna have you and she's gonna be laughing all the way to the bank! She needs you. The Calling wouldn't have been able to pass on to the next generation without the right man, but you conveniently stepped in to say 'hi'; 'it's me by the way - who you lookin' for', 'yay!'; 'let's have some fun in the hay - or... the morgue!'"

Jack choked, feeling ill, all of a sudden. "I beg your pardon, Megan, but I said no such thing!"

"You didn't have to _say_ it, Jack! You let her win - and you're going to let her win over and over and over again! 'Cause, what was it you told me: 'I'm not strong enough'." She nodded to herself, her gaze suddenly glacial, no longer warming.

Jack felt himself turning to ice just with her glare. Somewhere outside, the sound of a siren wailing past in the darkness woke him and he realised he'd just been dreaming. Megan was dead, gone. Of course she was gone. The blanket had fallen off the bed and slid to the floor, that was all.

He retrieved his blanket and lay back down, staring up at the darkened ceiling. Yeah right. Yeah bloody right. There wasn't going to be any rolling in the hay where Tru and he were concerned - ever! Or any rolling anywhere else, for that matter.

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><p><strong>Erm, what now?<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Several months later - ****Christmas morning**

Waking from a pleasant dream she couldn't quite piece together the details of, Tru blinked open her eyes and found that it was morning. Her alarm mustn't have gone off yet, though, because the room was silent, peaceful; weak light streaming in through the windows but not warm enough to be felt on her face. Remembering the previous evening, the celebrations, a smile lit up her face.

She was so happy they'd been able to reconnect with their father, even if Meredith had been absent. Harrison had been there, and he'd been smiling, and so had their dad, Richard. Even her friends had been there - Avery, Jensen and Tyler - along with Davis and Carrie. Her smile lost a bit of its warmth as she remembered that she'd also invited Jack and that he'd been getting on famously with her father even when she'd mentioned that he wasn't strictly-speaking a co-worker but that he worked, instead, for a competitor. Davis had been looking a little washed up, now that she remembered the evening with more clarity, but he'd assured her that it had had been down to the eggnog more than anything. She hadn't been so sure, but Carrie had been there and she hadn't wanted to press him, hadn't wanted to unnerve the woman he liked - a lot. She wasn't so sure what she thought of Carrie, but Davis liked her, and that was a good thing.

And Jensen and her had kissed! She remembered how her heart had done a happy little skip in her chest when he'd held her close and she'd been able to feel his heart beating next to hers. It hadn't even bothered her who saw - not her dad, not Avery and Tyler, not Jack. Nothing at all had bothered her, then. She'd been completely, blissfully happy. At least until she'd remembered Jensen's recent brush with death... and how Jack still had it in for him.

Honestly, she didn't get what Jack's problem was, why he couldn't just leave well enough alone! Why did it have to be personal when they were both just doing their jobs, as he always stressed? Why did he always have to find some way to drag her family and friends - her loved ones - into the mix? Was he just jealous that she even _had_ family and friends, and if so, that just wasn't good enough, to get around making her pay for something that wasn't even her fault. He wasn't the only person in the world who'd suffered before, if he hadn't figured that one out yet, and the next time she saw him, she told herself now, she'd be sure and tell him exactly that. She didn't like his little vendetta one iota, and if he was smart, he'd drop it, before he pushed her too far and she dropped _him_! After all, if he was willing to take it to the level that the other guy had - the guy who'd murdered her mom in front of her - then she was willing to do everything in her power to stop that from happening - everything and _anything_... including putting him down, dead! If it was a question of her life over his, she wasn't going to let him win. He had no more right to be alive than she did!

She just hoped it wouldn't come to that, because... it would hurt. He was going out of his way to mess things up, to rile her up, getting jiggy with the "order" of things, as he was so fond of prattling, and that kind of behaviour had consequences. So if he tried to take her out, she'd have to fight back, whether it was his time to go or not, she'd have to do _something_ - and that didn't sit completely right with her. But she knew she couldn't just do _nothing_! She had to stick up for herself, if not for her job - which, mind, she'd have no problem defending _any_ day of the year, come hail or high water... or Death, with a ridiculously smug look on his face!

_What a creep!_

_Tru, honestly, it's Christmas! Relax a little, enjoy yourself. And quit thinkin' about Jack __just__ in case he's telepathic, or something, an' he hears your thoughts and mistakes them as, oh God!, affectionate. He can pay for his own breakfast, you're not a charity organisation for - total and utter creeps who just happen to have a thing for __killing__ your boyfriends!_

She refrained from rolling her eyes and smiled again. She'd get up and check the time... hopefully it wouldn't be too early and she'd be able to call Jensen and maybe - just maybe - he'd agree to have breakfast with her. She was liking the idea more and more. What did it matter if it was Christmas and freezing cold outside; she felt perfectly cosy thinking about Jensen and how she'd soon be spending time with him. She really thought she did love him; she'd fallen in love again. And she was so happy, happy, happy. It was ridiculous to think on, really, up until the moment it happened, and then... it was just wonderful! And to think, when Luc had died, she'd easily imagined spending the rest of her life in a deep, dark pit akin to Hell... and then Jensen had come along and the sun had come out again, just like that. And she could smile again.

Mmm-hmm! Today was going to be a _great_ day! She could feel it already. A wonderful day! The best kind of day she could think of! Too bad Jack's day would just suck... no thanks to himself! The guy was continually sabotaging himself... it was actually kinda sad, if she thought about it; not that she did all that often. Last night had been a special case, because it had been Christmas Eve. _But enough about him_, she thought, she was going to have a fantastic day - and she didn't care what Jack did. In the oft chance that he went and found himself a mental facility to book himself into, well, cheers to him! Her day would be all the more happier for it!

_You've got to stop thinking about that guy, Tru_, she told herself. _It's Christmas. Just for today, don't take your work home with you. You're gonna get some serious worry lines, worrying all the time. Not cute, hon! Not cute. Relax. What's the worst thing he could do?_

She moaned, already wishing she hadn't asked herself that now, and opened that bag of joys, because far from _Buy you something lame and so way creepy for Christmas_, her mind was already fixating on _Kidnap your loved ones and find some way to kill them!_, instead. "You're as bad as he is, girl!" she hissed to herself. "Do you live _in a dungeon_?" She started to roll over, about ready to get out of bed and set her mind to other things - sleeping in had lost its allure - when she realised someone had their arm around her.

Her first thought, thank heavens, was that it was Jensen. She really wanted it to be Jensen! But then she remembered how hard it had been saying "goodbye" to him at the door last night, and her heart sunk. It wasn't Jensen!

_Please, please let it be Harry!_ she practically wanted to wail, though she knew damn well it wasn't Harrison, not the way whoever it was was holding onto her, their arm draped around her middle, underneath her lacy cami top, a warm hand resting against her skin. It would have been so nice if it had been Jensen - except it wasn't! She knew that for sure!

And whoever it was was alive, not dead; they were warm! They couldn't be dead. Cosying up to her just so they'd get first dibs on her "help" or whatever - not that anyone would actually know that she was the go-to girl, even.

Her heartbeat kicked up another notch, her chest suddenly painful, her breathing constricted, shallower. _It's just Harry!_ she tried to convince herself, unsuccessfully, knowing full well that she'd seen him to the door last night in high spirits along with their father. He hadn't gone overboard with the drink, he'd been perfectly fine. Even if he was missing Lindsay, he wouldn't have come back here and proceeded to fall asleep and cosy up to her as though she was a big ole teddy bear.

She almost whimpered out loud. Of course, she knew who it was, who it could only be. They'd been making such good friends, she'd thought it a little odd how Richard and he hadn't left together, still blathering on about goodness knows what, but it had been Richard and Harrison saying " 'night" to her at the door, dispensing hugs and good wishes. After seeing Jensen off, and finding the room empty of other people, she'd just assumed he'd slinked off into the night someplace, brooding over his schemes, the same as always.

Until she'd found him in her bedroom! Sleeping in her _bed_! Like some sad, homeless runaway reject child. She'd seriously considered stomping over there and grabbing him by the ear and turfing him back out the door, but then she'd thought how it was Christmas an' all and how he always looked so beat up, like he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in... a couple o' years, at least, and she'd thought, heck, she'd let it slide... just for one night.

Apparently, she'd stuffed up. Again!

Creep had done well, cosying up to her the way he had, she had to give it to him, but now it was time to get real... the fun and games were over. She was turfin' his ass outta her apartment the very next second! The very nex' sec-

Rolling over a bit, so it would be easier to get up, she finally managed to sit up, Jack's hand now resting on her thigh, and she really wished she hadn't. Or maybe that she'd died in her sleep, instead of waking up this morning! For a second, she envisioned herself losing it and screaming, "Where the Hell is my shit? And why am I wearing this... stupid top!" And then she'd whimper and brush his hand off her leg ineffectually, so that she'd have to try again, and she'd been shaking like a Christmas tree when it saw it was the end of the road: show time, baby. Time to cut you down and pose you in someone's living room, dress you up in cute, shiny things and arrange the presents 'round you like Isn't that so cute? (Nobody's gonna be thinking sacrificial anythin' tonight whatsoever!)

She took a deep, shaky breath, her heart on the floor, feeling as though it had been stomped on a couple of times, too. Or a couple hundred times.

She forced herself to look over at Jack, tears welling in her eyes. He was mostly dressed, apart from his shirt. He had this scar that looked real medical, but she couldn't quite piece together the fact that she was mostly, almost, for all good intents and purposes, a med student, so it made exactly zippo-nada of sense to her. She was shaking all over now, and she wanted to yell at him, really yell, or just drop her face into her hands and sob her eyes out, but she'd just remembered that her alarm hadn't yet gone off. And that if it did, he'd wake up and see her all teary-eyed and about to suffer a mental breakdown and he'd probably grin and say something like, "Told you so!" in that smug, pompous, I'm-so-contrived way he had about him that ticked all the _wrong_ boxes with her.

So instead of shout or rip her hair, she shuffled to the edge of the mattress shakily and climbed out of bed and slinked around the bed to switch off the alarm, almost knocking the thing to the floor in the process, and sending her heart into another round of freak-out palpitations.

It was cool. Nothing untoward had happened last night. She told herself this about twenty times before she'd made it across the room, and out into the bathroom, but not once did she believe it. It wasn't that she thought Jack was a total psycho, or that this was even part of one of his evil, little plans to destabilise her - it was exactly the opposite. She had the disastrous feeling that Jack wouldn't have any more idea about what had happened last night than she did right now... or even less, if she played her cards right. Because she didn't want him knowing about this! Whatever _this_ had been.

She had a feeling Jack wasn't big on keeping a diary, but she had started keeping one a while ago. Which was how she knew that something not-quite-right was going on here, between Jackie boy and her. They'd apparently had a "moment", which she'd totally blanked from her mind afterwards, and the only way she'd known about it was because she'd written it down in her diary, along with a couple dozen 'doom's.

Something was definitely going on, and she didn't like the chances that that something had upped its game plan last night.

Wrapping trembling arms around her middle, Tru tried not to think on it too hard. If what she thought had happened, had actually happened, no way in Hell was she letting Jack in on what she knew! She'd sooner die!

But first, she needed to find a pharmacy. _It's Christmas_, she reminded herself miserably,_ nowhere's going to be open, sweetheart._ That was when the tears really started, pouring out of her eyes like there was no tomorrow. She stumbled into the nearest wall and slid down it to the floor, crying as silently as she knew how and wrapping her arms around her legs tightly, her head buried in her knees.

Why did this have to happen to her now? Now, when she'd found Jensen. When she _loved_ Jensen! Why her, for God's sake! Why?

She didn't feel dirty. Just wrong! So, so wrong. And the worst thing was... she had no one to blame, just another Goddamn secret to keep. Because she would never, _never_ tell Jack what had happened! What, and make him feel like she felt right now! Like curling up and dying would be preferable to basically anything _else_ on the whole entire _planet_! _Hell of a Christmas present that would be!_ she thought, and she didn't even get a sadistic, little kick out of it. Not a single disturbing giggle.


	3. Chapter 3

He'd probably been having a good dream before the alarm blew up a racket and woke him, Jack thought, with some bitterness. It took a while before he actually opened his eyes, though; he was going over the previous night in his memories, figuring out where he stood now. Richard had stopped Harrison from finding out about their involvement, but that had meant throwing him out of his apartment – which had just become Harrison's new "surprise" Christmas present. And, boy, had Harrison been pleased. Beyond pleased, if Jack recalled rightly. The boy had been over-the-moon happy. It had been a little freaky to watch – and how he'd sauntered on up to Tru and declared proudly that they had the best frickin' dad in the world, had been practically stomach-churning. He got on with Richard fairly well, on the whole, that didn't mean he was a fan of the guy. Poor Tru, he'd thought then. Poor Harry. 'Cause from what he'd heard, Richie hadn't been a stand-up parent to the kids. He'd offed their mom, then high-tailed it outta town and gone and married some other woman, had some new, "better" kids. Kinda cruel, Jack thought. But, hey, he wasn't one to talk. What would he know? He'd never had kids of his own, had he? And he'd never killed their mother and then had to live seeing them every day, seeing their mother in them and remembering her all over again, whether he wanted to or not, the good and the bad, all of it, and knowing that as sad as his kids were now, if he'd never set that plan in motion, they'd still have had a mom, and they'd probably be happy. And now they were adults and messed up. Such was life, huh?

_Me, I probably wouldn't go so well handling the whole thing myself_, he thought now, wondering where exactly it was he'd ended up crashing for the night seeing as his apartment had been out of the question. Some dingy motel? He tried to remember organising that, but his memory of it was somewhat hazy. The bed was kind of nice, actually, so wherever it ended up being, he wasn't about to complain. That was until he opened his eyes and saw the funky, Christmas-patterned cushion. Yeah, totally not his thing. And not the "thing" of any motel he'd been to lately. So, obviously, this was someone's place... and someone would be busting down the door any second for any number of reasons: time to get lost, fella, I got company comin' soon; the family; hey, isn't it your shout for breakfast; so, how about we set up that aerial now? (Not that he had friends, but he was good at making them, usually.)

He'd just got around to sitting up when someone walked into the room and threw a cushion at him, a mug of coffee in hand. Someone who just happened to be Tru, he noticed with a sinking feeling as she sipped her coffee.

"Clearly, ply you with drink and pry whatever answers I may be looking for out of you doesn't work on you," she told him, with a grin. "Or was that just an excuse to interrupt any plans that Jensen and I might have had for kicking off the festive season? God, you're _so_ jealous!" She snorted and walked out of the room in full princess mode, calling after her, "This isn't some halfway house, you know. That means get up and nick off. The sooner, the better!"

"Was that coffee?" he asked, refraining from a yawn. He knew it was coffee, he was just being annoying, plus, he really did feel like a coffee, now. Now that she'd strutted in acting all supreme, issuing orders, and merrily waltzed out again.

He heard her snicker from the other room.

"Do you know where my shirt is?"

"Bathroom, drying."

"Don't tell me: it was kidnapped by aliens who had a secret plan for it involving genetic manipulation, or elves, or something..." He glared at the ridiculously Christmasy-themed cushion nearby.

"Elves!" She snorted. "Let's just say it had a little accident with Tyler. Tyler and too much to drink, and Mr. _Everybody's Friend_," she mocked him in a gruff voice. "You should really lay off invading other people's personal space when they're sloshed, Jack; it usually doesn't end well for you."

He shrugged. "Hmm, I dunno. I usually find allowing them to spill their drinks on me endears people to me."

She laughed. "That is _so_ you!"

"Yeah, well... I try. Do I get my shirt back now?"

"I'm not some frickin' maid, Jack! Go get it yourself if you want it – I'm not stoppin' ya!"

He sighed. "Did you stay up all night just to be sure I didn't get up in the middle of the night and have a good old snoop around at things, Tru? You sound kind of cranky."

"Nope! That would be the fact that _I_ invited _you_ to _my_ apartment! Was I on drugs? I don't know. Possibly! Probably! And get this – then I let you sleep on _my bed_! I do have a couch, you know. Next time – if there ever is a next time that I let you crash at my place without you being _dead_ – just remember, it's my place and _I_ sleep on the bed! You get the couch!"

_Wow_, he mouthed to no one. Tru was sure cranky today. Apparently the couch was kinda lame. Either that or she'd really, _really_ been looking forward to spending some quality alone time with her pal, Jensen. Ugh!

It was probably that, he thought to himself, finally getting out of bed and going to find his shirt.

.

When Jack joined her in the kitchen, Tru was chatting away on the phone to Lindsay (he assumed she was talking to Lindsay because she'd called the person on the other end of the line "Linds"). She turned away from him when she saw him come in, then turned back to snatch up her cup of coffee and turned away again, still chatting away on the phone as though nothing had changed.

He had a look around, mostly because he didn't have much else to do, and noticed that Tru had tidied things up. A quick glance at the alarm clock in Tru's bedroom had told him it was 7:30. He wasn't sure what time that made it in England, but the hey, they were best friends, right, Lindsay and Tru.

He glanced at the door, wondering if Harrison was going to come bursting in any second, looking hungry and wanting breakfast. If that was the case, he'd want to be making tracks, he thought. He really wasn't up for a confrontation with Har, though usually he quite enjoyed his little talks with Tru's brother; not today.

Tru went on talking to Lindsay, walking to the kitchen sink to deposit of her empty cup. Next time he looked up – he'd sorta zoned out for a moment, thinking about things, his sister – he noticed Tru standing in front of him holding out a mug of coffee, her eyes narrowed as though to snap at him to hurry up and take the damn thing before she threw it on him.

He took the cup and found somewhere to sit down, which turned out on the couch, sipping his coffee, listening to Tru blabber on about nothing really to Lindsay in the background. Same as always, then, he thought. He still felt like he was half dead, even if he'd slept the whole night through. Whatever that was about, he was getting sick of it already. Sick... and understandably, tired of it.

The way she was going on, he figured Tru had been exaggerating. She hadn't really had any trouble sleeping on the couch. She sounded as sprightly and awake as ever. Lucky Tru. _Well, she is younger than you_, he reminded himself; that was how it went, wasn't it?

He didn't notice Tru had stopped talking until she came and flopped herself down on the couch beside him, reaching for the television remote on the coffee table, and switched the TV on, already flipping through channels, apparently searching for details on how the day's weather would play out. She seemed to be ignoring him completely so he didn't bother saying anything.

The TV remote hit the floor, snapping him from his thoughts once more, and he noticed how Tru's hand was shaking. She didn't make a move to retrieve the remote, she just pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, bowing her head as if pained, though he couldn't really tell because her dark, wavy hair had cascaded around her face, obscuring any view he might have had of her face.

He started to say something, anything. It didn't really matter what. "Hey, I really appreciate this. Letting me stay the night, you know. You needn't have done so, but you did, anyway. You're not so bad, Tru. There's still hope for you. I..." He sighed, shrugged. "Merry Christmas, hey!"

Tru turned away from him, slightly rocking backward and forward in her seat, as though to comfort herself. "Please just go!" she whispered.

That made him sit up and take notice, made him put his cup down on the coffee table and frown. "Tru, is everything alright? Is Lindsay alright?" Strange as it sounded, he felt a real pang of worry for this woman, the woman he told himself over and over was the "opposition" (not a friend; they'd never be friends).

"I'm not discussing this with you!" she whispered, her voice starting to waver. "We are not friends. We're not even close. I'd like you to go now, Jack. Go. Please!" She wouldn't look at him, hiding her face away behind her hair.

He shrugged one shoulder, taking back his hand. He'd just been about to reach out, rest a hand on her shoulder, try for "friends" (just for one heartbeat, maybe two). No, but that would be a mistake. He should have known it.

He picked up his coffee and finished the last of it, stood up. "Thanks for the coffee," he muttered, heading for the door. She didn't say anything back, she never even tried to stop him from going (not like yesterday; his heart felt sad), and he didn't push it. He left, just as she'd asked.

Maybe he'd hear some news from Carrie soon.

.

It was cold outside. Really cold. And the sky was full of clouds, the kind that promised snow and hail, that promised more cold. He shivered, listening to the sound of his boots on the footpath. Had Tru been pissed at him, or mad about something that had happened to Lindsay? Was Lindsay sick? Had she broken up with her hubby, now she wanted Harry back? Why was he so interested to know Tru's business? It was Christmas. Didn't he get days off? Shit, sure he did! Sure he did! And today was one of those days!

Picking up his pace, he decided that he wasn't going to think about Tru for the rest of the day. Today was his day, Jack's day. Tru didn't get to ruin Christmas, too, even if he'd kinda enjoyed yesterday, spending time with the annoying woman. No, today there was no Tru. Just Jack.

.

The girl was fifteen, maybe. She sat on the kerb, her eyes vaguely raised to the blue, blue summer's sky, singing along with her Walkman, earphones plugged into her ears. No, moving closer, he saw that her eyes were closed. She was collecting sunshine on her cheeks, warming her dark chocolatey hair. The summer blazed in those wavy trellises, though it was only early morning; the day was only just starting to warm. He couldn't tell what colour her eyes were, but she had a cute nose. She was singing something that sounded like an old Dusty Springfield number. It made him smile, even if he didn't want to, dusty girl with her shabby, old boots in the gutter; funny, beautiful girl.

He wondered if she knew that, if anyone told her that. That she was beautiful; sunny, even. Right now, she was smiling, and he couldn't move, he was spellbound, glued to the spot. How he so longed for her to open up her eyes, n-not to see him, standing down the footpath, watching her, just to see the colour of her eyes, to see into her soul. He bet he wouldn't be disappointed. His heart fluttered. It was strange, he knew that. Here was this girl he'd never set eyes on before in his entire life – barely older than a child – and here he was, twenty-two. What was his fixation with this kid? Why was he so captivated with her? That surely wasn't normal, was it? No, he guessed not. Tried to make himself move, walk on, before she opened her eyes and spied him, but he couldn't move. Tried again, but there was something wrong with his chest. Not enough air; felt constricted. He didn't want to leave her. Didn't want to leave. What was her name? He didn't even know. Sh-she didn't know his name, either. He... he felt like he wanted her to know, to know him, like he wanted to get to know her.

It, it wouldn't be nothin' bad, nothin' like him taking advantage of her; he just wanted to know her, to get to know her, spend time with her. They could be like friends. He warmed to that idea at once. Yeah, friends! Liked that. He sure liked that.

He started to shuffle her way, finally able to move again, when the bus pulled up and the girl leapt to her feet, eyes snapping open, and she was flying off down the path, away from him, fast like a bird – he couldn't tell what colour her eyes had been, she'd moved like lightning – then she disappeared, onto the bus. He felt a strange pang in his chest, like loneliness, but by the time he'd figured out what it meant, that he wanted to go after her, by the time he'd started running, the bus was already moving, out on the road again, and really, running was useless. It was much faster than he was. He'd never even bothered to check where it was headed.

He drew to a halt, badly out of breath, and felt like crying. He just knew he'd messed up. This girl and he, they were meant to be friends, only she didn't know it, and he did, and he'd mucked up. Because of him, they'd lost their opportunity.

Stupid him.

.

The bus hadn't come yet. It wouldn't, either. Bus wasn't running today. Jack didn't care. He pushed away the long-ago memory and suppressed a sigh. What did the past matter anymore? Today was today and the world was what the world was, today. Today, he knew that girl's name. It was Tru. Today, he knew they'd never be friends, had never been destined to be friends. Just a silly illusion, really. What did it matter? They couldn't even hold down an honest conversation. They were hopeless. Hopeless.

And, right now, he felt like that, too.

Told himself, no, they didn't need one another. That was a dream from a past that didn't hold true; a past he'd do best to put out of his head. She wasn't his girl and he wasn't her man. He'd been crazy to imagine something like that. It didn't matter that they were both different, that he missed her when she wasn't around. She had her mind made up, set; and she had Jensen. And they had their jobs.

They had their jobs.

When it started to snow, he hoped she was indoors; warm. Hoped she was happy.

.

"Hey, _Tru_! How's my best girl this fine morning? Where you at, girl? You smilin' - 'cause you should be. You're awesome!"

Tru smiled and glanced at the door to her apartment. "Merry Christmas, Harrison!"

"Hey, you too!" He started to hum something on the other end of the line.

Tru wondered if he was calling from his new apartment. Likely. "Harry, I've gotta fly, but have a great day, sweetie!"

"Sure thing, babe! I sure will!" Harrison agreed. "And you?"

"Yeah. And me! Me, too." She put her cell phone down, on the kitchen counter, relieved that Harrison hadn't picked her up on the 'sweetie' comment.

_It doesn't have to be this way_, she told herself. It truly didn't. But what about... the baby. The... minuscule thing growing inside her. She was no killer, and certainly no baby killer. And she would never be able to convince herself that it was anything other than that... a baby, even at this early stage. It's destiny was obvious: one day, if she let it, it would be a baby. But would she let it? Could she?

She could only imagine that it would be wrong, to bring up a baby in the middle of this "war". It should have been able to know both parents, not feel like a pawn waiting to be used and then thrown away until next time. She didn't know she could do this. She honestly didn't know!

She slipped a CD into her stereo system and turned up the volume. It was hard to breathe trapped indoors like this, alone, but she'd have to brave it. It was up to her to choose. Later. Later. Right now, she just wanted to pretend, to dream, that she didn't have a thing to worry about. She'd listen for a while, she'd try to wind down a bit, and then she'd approach the subject with a clear head. That was her hope, anyway.

She lay down on the couch and watched the ceiling, tears starting again in her eyes when she thought of the future Jensen and she could have had, would now never have. She couldn't lie to him, couldn't pretend that this baby was his. And... and it would be wrong to lie to the baby, too. She couldn't do that, could she? Lie? Lie, even to protect her child, as her mother had to her. Or, not exactly lie, but... gloss over the whole truth, the truth she knew full well. She hated the thought that she'd end up a liar; lying to the people she loved the most, pain all the time, in her heart. Longing for a different life, a life without this horrible lie. One lie was bad enough; any more would be unbearable.

Tears cascaded down her face, but she pretended not to care, pretended it was only the music.

She really didn't know if she could do this, but what choice did she have?

You don't even know you're pregnant, she told herself reasonably, except she was wrong. She _knew_. She had no idea how she knew, she just knew.

It was so, so stupid. So stupid. So unfair. How could she do the right thing, choose, when she had absolutely no control over her actions, and then even the memory of them slipped through her fingers like water in a river? It just wasn't fair, right!

_Is this my punishment?_ she wondered, as the sobs took over her whole body. _Is this my punishment for saving Jensen?_ She had no answer, but her tears continued.

.

No, not everywhere was closed. He'd managed to find somewhere that was open, finally. He didn't go inside, though. He stood outside, under the shelter of the overhanging roof, and listened to the sounds of the wind, whispering words he didn't know, comforts, questions or answers he'd never know; not in this form, in this body.

He closed his eyes and wondered how he could feel so alone; how he could feel so alone when he had the whole world, right there, beside him. His job was to ensure it stayed that way. But he didn't even feel the small, familiar sense of reward that he was usually able to drudge up through the darkness of his thoughts; almost always. But not today. Today, he just felt lonely.

He opened his eyes and watched all of the people, going about their days, their lives. Moving away from him. And he only felt more lonely. Not one of them stopped, asked him how he was. Yes, sometimes the children would catch your eye, the small ones, as though they knew, they felt what you felt, you weren't really strangers, you were all a part of the whole, but that was rare. Rare today, their parents all in such a rush. He barely had time to smile back, should one of the little ones meet his eye, uncertainty reflecting in their gaze.

He didn't want to see them today. Not now. Somehow, they didn't help. They just weren't her; they weren't Tru.

He'd tried to stop thinking of her, tried and failed. It was impossible, really. Impossible today, anyway. Really, if he was honest, he'd never believed himself mad, insane. He'd just been so, so tired. All of it, he hadn't wanted it. He'd just wanted it all to go away. He hadn't yet realised. When you knew, you never stopped knowing. You never could. You could pretend that you did, but you hurt yourself just as much pretending not to know as admitting to yourself that you did. It always remained that you knew, and someone else didn't, and, in between, people got hurt. People you cared about, loved, or didn't, you, yourself. The whole thing. Sometimes, it seemed like the whole thing was a hurt machine. A bit like a carousel, one of those big wheels in the sky, but sharp and dangerous; deadly dangerous.

Worse than dying. He could think of a dozen, a hundred things worse than that. Discommunication sure ranked as one of 'em. Discommunication from your family, your friends, your community, from humanity, from the Earth, the universe. There were a thousand different ways to look at it, he was sure. But it all hurt. Of course it hurt. It was meant to hurt, after all. It was one of those laws. If you broke it, you sure knew.

Right now, he had this feeling like he'd messed up. Big time! He just couldn't place his finger on it. And it was killing him. Actually, dying would have hurt less, he was sure. This... was just plain torture.

He'd done something wrong, made a misstep somewhere, only he didn't know where, and the one person he had a feeling knew something – even just an inkling of something – had asked him to leave, and he'd left, he hadn't had it in him to refuse her, to push the issue. Now he knew just how wrong he was, how ineffectual he was, how powerless. He'd told Megan he wasn't strong enough, and nothing had changed.

But, oh!, it was time.

A small child, maybe three, maybe four, bumped into him, eyes full of unshed tears, and he got down to look into her eyes. "Hey, you!" he said, almost cheerfully, but still so sad. Oh, crap, he'd scared the little thing!

The little girl stared at him, not knowing what to think, but seemed to sense he meant her no harm. The tears waiting in her eyes relaxed, for just a moment. Then a cold wind whipped up and stung her face, spiralling all around her, reminding her that she was lost and alone. Silent tears washed down her face.

Holding back his own tears, Jack took the little girl in his arms and held her close for a moment, humming her favourite song for her, one of those children's group numbers that appeared on television, little kids laughing and waving their hands.

He could have reeled off a speech that went on and on, trying to reassure her, and she wouldn't hear, she wouldn't understand, so he just hummed her favourite song and held her, mentally going through the steps, how to get her back to her parents; what to do first.

By the time he'd got that figured out, the little thing had calmed down some. At least, she didn't burst into tears or scream. She seemed to trust him. He thought, for a moment, of standing and holding out his hand for her to take; nobody has to walk alone in this world, darling. Thought better and lifted her up into his arms. Wouldn't want to lose her in the crowds of last minute shoppers; he'd be kicking himself, if he did. Taking a breath to steady himself, they set off for the entrance to the shopping complex. _We'll find them_, he promised her silently. _They'll be missing you, just as you're missing them._

As he walked, he sung _Put a Little Love in Your Heart_. It seemed to cheer the little girl; she started to smile. Nobody shot them funny looks; no time. Busy day. The little one even started to sing along, after a while, and Jack was surprised how comforting it was, how warm it made him feel inside. He always wanted to laugh. Strange, how he always managed to forget the feeling, that wonderful feeling of belonging, of just belonging. Silly, silly.

The little girl giggled and he smiled at her. _We'll find them soon, hon. Just hang on._


	4. Chapter 4

"Jack!"

The little girl sitting beside him on the bench clapped her hands, getting used to the feel of her new gloves; a Christmas present from Jack. She seemed pleased that they were pink and puffy, hardly phased at all that they were a little boofy, that they'd take some getting used to. They were warm, comforting.

"Hey, hey!"

Suppressing a sigh, Jack looked around.

Jensen nodded, coming over and stopping by the bench they were sitting at. "Hey!" He smiled at the little girl. "Hi."

"Hi," the little girl repeated, clapping her hands.

Jensen nodded again, sighing. "Your little girl?" he asked.

"My sister's," Jack replied, not really wanting to get into a conversation with Jensen but knowing Jensen hadn't just stumbled upon the two of them, he'd been looking for Jack. Ever since he'd come to him at the clinic and had told him he had some things to tell him about Tru, and after narrowly escaping death, Jack supposed. Jensen was that type of person. He liked things to be in order, to know the facts. That was why he was such a good student. It wasn't just about living up to his father's expectations, impressing Daddy. It was a lot more than that. Jack had often wondered about talking to Jensen himself, explaining the whole dilemma, but he wasn't sure about it, so he'd always held back. Now he wondered why Jensen had come looking for him. Was it out of concern for Tru, or for himself? Surely he'd started to suspect something.

All of a sudden, Jack didn't feel comfortable with the little one hanging around Jensen, with them conducting this conversation whilst in her earshot. Still, her mother was still bustling around inside the store, so they were still waiting. The PA system was down, so there was no way for the staff to call the kid's mom to the front desk. So they'd just taken a seat and settled in for the long wait. Apparently Mom had a lot of stuff to do; busy Mom. Real busy, not to have noticed her kid had wandered off. Or had she told her, "Look here, kiddo, stay!", and pointed a finger to where she'd expected her daughter to stay, as if she were someone's pet, and not their child. Sit, Fido.

When Jensen didn't go on, all at once, Jack found something to say. The silence was becoming awkward, he was afraid it might unsettle the little one. "How are things? How are you? You up to speed with all your Christmas shopping?"

Jensen nodded, and gave a heavy sigh. "Yeh. Yeah, I'm doin' alright. With the... Christmas, you know. I... I really wanted to talk to you about... Lately, I've been feeling... There's this conflict going on inside me, at the moment. You know. Like I've been living this... comfortable existence for... for practically forever... I... I've realised that near on all of the hardships I've ever had to face were really of my own devising. In my mind, you know. My... mental state, how I looked at the world, my attitude.

"I care about Tru. Truly. Honestly. But I don't think this is gonna work, this thing... with us. At least, not now, not until..." He sighed resignedly. "Until I've sorted some things out, first. My things, not... not Tru's! God, no – she's perfect! It's all me! I just feel as though I've always existed in this narrow... field, never really giving, just taking. Not giving out, or giving back. And never really understanding, because you can't understand if all you ever do is take, take, take. It's give and take, the whole world. And I... I think I'm ready to give something back now. I think I need to..." He frowned, finally meeting Jack's eye. "Do you think Tru will understand? Or... will she just think I've gone mad? She's a lovely girl. A... wonderful person, but I know she's been hurt." He gestured to Jack. "We both know it! And... I don't want her to... to have to hurt because of me, because of my stuff that's going on. I... Right now, I don't feel whole; I don't feel in control. I'm not... I'm not right for her, or for anyone else, the way I am now. But I want to work on it, I want to make it okay. For me, and for us, if she'll wait, if she'll have me back when I'm done. When I'm better again."

He shook his head. "Sorry. I'm just guessing you know where I'm coming from, assuming. I... I have that habit. Do you...?"

"I understand you perfectly," Jack told him levelly, calmly.

Jensen looked relieved. He flashed the little girl another smile. She was busy listening to something on Jack's tiny portable cassette player. Spanish, he gathered shortly, when the little girl blurted out something from the tape. He smiled again.

"I, um, I don't know how to tell Tru. I know she's going to be resistant at first, she'll be hurt, but I... really don't want to hurt her. I just feel so... stagnant here. I feel so stifled. It's all just... so suffocating. I can see she doesn't feel the same way, that she cares about her studies, her job at the morgue, and she's... she's just really full of life, and I feel like, in the long run, I'm just going to drag her down with me, into this... miserable, dark mire. If I don't get away, if I don't find myself, I'll be ruining a lot of people's lives, and I couldn't... I don't think I could live with myself if that happened." He ran a hand over his long, dirty blonde hair. "It's bad enough as it is."

"I'm sure Tru will find a way to see things from your point of view," Jack replied, "if you the two of you sit down and have a good, long chat about it. She's an understanding type of girl. I know she'll try to do the right thing by you, Jensen. You've just got to give her the chance. She's not the enemy. She is a woman, true, and they can be a bit finicky, at times, but she's... she's alright. I think she'll do alright, if she just believes in herself. I know she cares about you, Jensen. Anyone could see that. You've just got to believe in her. If the truth stings a little, she'll live with it; she'll forge on. She's tough. But you've gotta be straight with her, you've got to tell her it honestly. Don't try to dodge the issue. She'll be more hurt if you try to avoid the hard parts and just gloss over them. She's been hurt that way before, it'll only hurt all the more if it's coming from you, the second, or third, time around. Just be honest, Jensen. It's all you can do. You've got to live, too."

Jensen nodded, the troubled look in his eyes easing off a bit. "Okay."

"Okay." Jack offered him a smile, a bit of encouragement and support. He didn't go so far as to get up and pat a hand on the younger man's shoulder; thankfully, Jensen wasn't waiting around for him to do so, either.

Jensen nodded again and sighed, digging his hands into his pants pockets. "I guess I've got a lot to think about right now. But, as you said, there's no way around it. I've just got to try and do this thing the right way, and hopefully things will go smoothly. If not, I'll be kicking myself from now until next Christmas, but that's just a risk I'll have to take. I know I've got to do this – I just have to! Thanks for the talk, Jack... and, have a happy festive season."

"The same to you," Jack replied. "Stay safe!"

Jensen nodded, turning and disappearing into the crowd once more, and Jack finally allowed himself to sigh, patting the little girl's hair with relief. Jensen wasn't all bad, but he sure felt mighty unsettling. It really was rotten luck that he'd gotten himself killed; he could have learnt some valuable lessons, even helped some people. And sad, sad that Tru hadn't been able to bring herself to part with him, to let him go. Now he was all messed up, not knowing what was what. He'd probably go off and get himself killed someplace else, someplace Tru wouldn't be able to rush to his aid and pull him out of the mess and set him back on his feet. It was sad for both of them. And if he somehow managed not to wind up dead by some accident or by someone else's design, he'd probably end up doing it himself. At least, that was what Jack had heard in his voice, seem in the shine of his eyes. He didn't feel right in this world anymore. Deep down, Jensen knew it was his time; time to move on, maybe to start over again.

Whichever way the tide turned, whichever way things played out, they'd end up hurting Tru – badly, Jack gauged – and that was sad. Of course it was sad. He had, probably – well, yeah, he had – gone a bit overboard with the whole resetting the balance/teaching Tru a lesson she hopefully wouldn't forget for a long time thing when he'd sent Luc off to die, and that had been wrong, and he couldn't blame only Tru for this thing with Jensen – he'd set a bad example for her, set her off – so now he had to take some of the responsibility for things being messed up, take some of the flak. He wasn't her age; he should have known better, but he'd let his personal feelings, his frustrations with the job, get in the way of his doing his job properly, and he'd gotten a right smacking over the knuckles for it, too. He knew he'd messed up. Oh, he knew it, alright.

Now, all he could do was wait for things to right themselves again. Jensen was a good kid. He'd do the right thing. Even if he didn't know what that right thing was, right now. Hopefully...

"You are a bad man, Jack. You mess things up. You have _got_ to learn to keep your head in the game. It's not a joke; it's never a joke. It might seem like a bit of a lark, a bit of fun, at times, but it's definitely not funny, or a game. It's your job, so do it properly, or don't bother at all. You want to see things go to wrack and ruin, just go ahead, be my guest – you're doing a bang-up job of it as it is!" He laughed darkly, to himself, then wished Tru had been there. She might have slapped some sense into him. Well, in his daydreams, she might have. She wasn't really the violent type, to be honest. Still, it would have done him some good, he thought, upon occasion; would have brought him back down to earth, to reality. Because sometimes... he needed it. When things got too unreal.

"Can you speak Spanish, now, Bea?" he asked the little girl.

"_Casa_," she replied.

He smiled. "You're doing great, hon!"

.

Tru tried not to, but she couldn't help the tears that were forming in her eyes at Jensen's words. They were sitting on the couch together, mugs of coffee sitting on the coffee table, cooling off. A while ago, Jensen had picked up her hands and was now holding onto them, holding them between his hands, but the gesture didn't feel comforting anymore. It felt like he was telling her someone had died, like he was telling her the very worst thing, the very worst thing he could ever told her.

"I don't want you to leave," she managed to get out, though her voice sounded awful, as though she was taken with a cold, even though she wasn't. She despised her voice, in that moment. Awful voice. Ugly voice!

"It isn't you, Tru!" Jensen struggled to explain, looking into her eyes. "It's me! I've got to get away for a while – but I'll be back. I promise you, I'll be back. And... and..." He trailed off. He didn't have an _and_, not just yet.

"What if something happens to you?" she whispered, looking down at her legs rather than meet his eye. "I'd... I'd never get to say 'goodbye'... the proper way. You could... you could die." She had a bit of trouble getting those words out, but she managed in the end. Just. Barely.

He sighed patiently. "Don't you see, Tru; I might as well be dead, for all I feel right now! I know I have to do this! I just know it! Please... please. I'm begging you, Tru. Please just try to understand..."

She sniffed, looking up from her lap and meeting his eyes. She did understand, that was the worst thing of all. She understood, but she was afraid, and she didn't want him to go; she wanted more time to spend together, for them to be together. Just a little more time. But now he was saying he was dying; that it was his being here, where she was, that was killing him inside, and it hurt her, it ripped her heart to little pieces, inside. And she knew she had to let him go. It was his life. And he should have been allowed to live it, for as long as he had left.

She couldn't keep him; she couldn't hold him back.

Sucking in a wobbly, uneven breath, she tried to tell him with her eyes alone how much she loved him, and wanted him to be safe. And then, finally, in words. It was okay. "Go."

Jensen laughed, just relieved that she understood, that she was on his side; then moved closer and pulled her into a simple, friendly embrace. He didn't want to go over-the-top, not now, not now that he would be leaving for Africa in a matter of days. He couldn't go around handing out false promises and false hopes, Christmas or not. It just wasn't right, or gentlemanly, if he thought on it.

Now he had to tell Avery, and Tyler. Now he had to tell the university, and his father. Or maybe he'd just skip that last part, and let his father find out in his own way. Maybe. But for now, he felt safe in Tru's arms. He felt loved.

He knew it was crazy – entirely crazy of him to give something like this up, to give up a girl like Tru for the chance to see the world and help out a little – but this was just something he knew he had to do. Without it, he'd cease to feel apart of the human race. Without it, he'd might as well have died that day of the car crash.

Holding her close to him, breathing in the scent of her hair, he really wanted to tell Tru he loved her, because, in his own way, he supposed he did, but he'd be a right bastard to do that to her now, so he held his silence and just counted himself lucky for this, to be able to hold her like this, one last time. And hoped he'd come home one day, a better man for having left.

Later, they stood up, avoiding looking one another in the eye. At the door, he refrained from saying anything, though it was breaking his heart not to speak, not to at least wish her a happy Christmas (which he'd now completely shattered).

Tru opened the door for him, and he stepped outside. He was on the verge of walking away when Tru's voice stopped him, and she said, just as if they'd never stopped talking, as if the uneasy silence had never happened, her voice a little broken emotionally, "But, Jensen, I'll miss you."

_I__'__ll__miss__you,__too_, he thought, but said, instead, "Not too much, I hope. After all, med school can get pretty hectic, at times, and pretty damn exciting at others! Don't forget to live, eh. And breathe, when you need to breathe."

He flashed her a winning smile, though she looked about to burst into tears, and forcibly made himself turn, still smiling, and head off down the corridor, out of Tru's life, all the while, wanting to break down and cry himself. Oh, he was a tosser! He had to be, to leave a wonderful girl like that!

.

Avery clung to his arm like a little child, full of fear, fear that she'd be abandoned, that she'd never feel loved again, because the one person she loved in all the world had just told her they were leaving: so long, have a good life, if you can; _sayonara_. She kept tugging on his arm, her eyes mournful, repeating over and over, in varying tones of horror and grief, confusion, and just plain denial, "No!"

Tyler, presumably, had been listening, but chose, instead of taking Avery's desperate, theatrical tack, to stare at his shoes, or the floor, or both.

Though, in the end, Jensen finally found himself alone. Alone, to make the preparations; to get everything sorted, to pack. To leave, walk out of this old life, and into a new one. He was terrified, but a small part of him was excited, too. A small part of him couldn't wait to leave behind the old Jensen and discover who he really was, and discover the real Jensen. The person he'd been looking for since forever.

.

Harrison dropped by for lunch, which was when Tru told him about Jensen's decision. Har didn't look happy, not if it meant Jack could get to him and finish him off anytime he wanted, without Tru around to watch his back, but he didn't have any criticisms to hurl, and, for that, Tru was thankful. She really did get where Jensen was coming from. Having this calling had made her understand. Jensen was going out into the world to find his calling. She couldn't begrudge him that. She never could have.

She and Harrison had lunch and she told him how she'd spoken to Lindsay on the phone that morning, and how she was doing well – which he was genuinely glad to hear – then she decided to change the topic and asked when she'd be invited 'round to see his new place. "Soon," was his answer, with a big boofy grin. Yep, that was Harrison, alright, she thought, loving him all the more, silly thing that he was, at times.

She couldn't ever imagine their dad being as young as Harry was now, being as impulsive and carefree, as full of life, as her brother was. She just couldn't, though she'd have been delighted to stand corrected. She really didn't know who it was her mother had fallen in love with all those long years ago, and it saddened her, not to know. She'd have liked to know, though it sounded beyond silly. She really would have.

Maybe, one day, she'd be able to brooch the subject with him. Just gently. Maybe, or maybe not. For now, the hope was enough. The dream was enough. She could live with that; with a past that was mostly smoke and mirrors, dreams and dust, because she knew that her present was rock solid, and her future was something to look forward to, no matter what. She would always find something there to look forward to, to perk herself up. She had no other choice, really. She was alive and that's how it was.

She was alive and she loved it.

In spite of everything.

.

Bea's mother had some choice words for the type of man she thought he was, when she finally emerged from the shop; at first, not looking in the least worried, not until she discovered her kid sitting at some bench with a strange man, practising sign language. What kind of a pervert was he? She was in a bad mood, apparently. Jack didn't let it worry him. Just said "see ya" to the kid, "have a merry Christmas" to the mom, and walked off. He was kinda annoyed that the mom was so horrid, though. Wished she could have been nicer, at least shown a bit of concern for Bea, but that was life, and Bea's would be a hard one, apparently. Sad, but he could hardly do anything to fix that. Only Bea's mom could do that, or Bea, herself, when she got older. All he could do was walk away.

So that was what he did.

It wasn't long after that he got a call from Carrie, informing him that Jensen was off to somewhere in Africa, off to do aid work, as she'd heard it. A weird one, that one. Tru really knew how to pick the weird ones.

He made no comment on that, but he didn't have to; Carrie had already hung up. Yeah, even Carrie wouldn't be spending Christmas alone. She had Davis.

And he had no one.

Wonderful!


	5. Chapter 5

She'd tried contacting Meredith several times since showing Harrison to the door, but to no avail. Mere was unreachable on the telephone. Tru would have gone 'round to her place, but she didn't know where that was anymore. Meredith had changed apartments, but she hadn't kept either of her siblings in the loop.

Feeling dejected, Tru cleared away the dished, leaving them in the sink for later, and went to lie down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when she'd lost Mere. She wanted her sister back. Her eyes stung with tears. No matter what, she still loved Mere. Mere was more of a mystery than Harrison, by far, but that didn't stop Tru caring for her, worrying about her. She loved Harry to bits, but she loved her big sister, too. If only she could have got in touch with her somehow, she'd have felt a lot better, but now, that didn't look as though it would be happening very soon. Maybe at all.

Closing her eyes, Tru concentrated on her breathing, on keeping it steady, clenching and unclenching her fingers around the handfuls of sheet she'd seized moments ago. It hurt her, not knowing if Meredith was well, if she was doing okay. It was like a pain in her stomach, but it was really her heart, she knew. Tears bubbled underneath her closed eyelids, but Tru kept her breathing even, kept it steady.

She'd cried so much today. For the things she'd had no control over, for not knowing, when she should have, for not being able to be strong enough, not being about to tell Jack something she should have owned up to right away; for having to let Jensen go. So many tears, so much pain. But now she didn't want to cry anymore, at least not for today.

Instead, she decided that she would remember, if she could. Would go through every single memory she had of yesterday, until she struck on the right one, the key to unlocking what she couldn't remember, to unlocking the answers she just knew were waiting for her, hidden beneath the surface, because she had to know. She couldn't live not knowing, just as the girl she'd once saved hadn't been able to, had been haunted by not knowing, by feelings she couldn't quite connect with actions, memories from the past. She had to know.

Breathing deeply, she allowed her hands to relax, to release the sheet they were clutching at. No, today wouldn't be one of those days, a rewind day, but it would be for her, mentally. She had to get on it whilst it was still fresh because she was afraid that if she didn't, it would slip away. Forever. And she couldn't allow that.

Careful to keep her breathing deep and even, Tru started to feel herself relax, started to feel at peace with the world, in that moment, with lying on her bed in her apartment, lost in her thoughts, shuffling through feelings from last night, trying to attach faces with names, in an obscure manner of speaking, emotions with events. When she came to Jensen leaving last night, it was hard not to get choked up. She imagined he'd been testing himself, when he'd kissed her then. She remembered the way it had felt, how he'd kissed her. She'd been happy, inside, but Jensen hadn't found what he'd been searching for. Or he had found enough of it. He'd been searching for something inside himself, something to hold him back, to keep him here, with her, but there hadn't been anything. Yes, she cared for him, had feelings for him, but it hadn't been enough. He had been able to give enough back, to his mind, even if she'd thought he was doing just fine. And it was his life! So she couldn't argue, couldn't say "no", "I know better". She didn't. She didn't know better, of course; and now he was gone.

She hoped he would stay safe, and come back to her. Even just as a friend, if either of them had moved on in the time they'd been apart. Friends would be okay, too. Anything, just something, would be okay.

She had said "goodnight" to Jensen, then cast a sweeping glance across the room behind her, her eyes lingering more fully on this spot, or that, before she'd sighed and set about picking up after herself and the other Christmas revellers. She'd catch the dished in the morning; for now, just taking them to the sink and getting the ball rolling. Then she walked to her bedroom, ready to crash for the night, but that wasn't to happen. At least, not how she'd expected.

At first, she'd laughed, a mixture of disbelieve and certainty that Jack was just trying to get on her nerves, just trying to wind her up. Hands on hips, she glared at him. But nothing changed, apparently he really was asleep. Funny thing. What a funny thing! Sighing to herself, she wondered how Davis's evening was progressing, hoping it was better than hers. She really hadn't wanted company right now... well, she had, just, it wasn't Jack's. As if! She'd wanted Jensen to stay, but he hadn't. He'd had his mind to set in order, had to go off and be alone, tidy up his head, as it were. She knew that now. She didn't feel so stung, now.

In her memory, she stepped into her bedroom and walked over to the bed, sighing finally, just slightly, and settled on the edge of the mattress, on the side of the bed, reaching out a hand almost unconsciously and resting it on the back of Jack's neck. She didn't mean to unnerve him, or even wake him, she'd just been thinking about things, things from her past. Thinking about her mom, or the times when Meredith and her had still been close, when Meredith would plomp her down in a chair, any chair, and tie back her hair into a ponytail for her. Meredith was the best when it came to ponytails; pigtails, even, and braids.

She remembered how much she'd loved Meredith, remembered the glowing future she'd naively imagined for her older sister, and a lump stuck in the back of her throat. Mere was still among the living, still alive, yet they were so, so far apart. She really wished she'd have come to her party, met Dad, but it hadn't happened. Now, with everything, Tru felt like crying. She took her hand back, annoyed at herself, and stood up, leaving the room.

She'd might as well get ready for bed, herself. She didn't imagine Jensen would be back tonight, or that Meredith would suddenly show up, out of the blue, unannounced, and pull her into an impromptu hug. Meredith had stopped doing things like that years ago, the big sister looking out for little sister things. At the time, it hadn't bothered Tru so much, just hurt a little, but she'd thought it was Meredith's way of letting her grow up, of letting her let go of her training wheels. Now she knew it had been Meredith's way of detaching altogether, of drawing tighter and tighter into herself, of cutting out the rest of the world. Mom's death and Dad's abandonment, shortly after, had cut Meredith down to the bone, and deeper. It had made shreds of every little thing she'd held consistent and secure, and everything she'd held dear. Her spirit had been in tatters, and no one had come to save her then. Not a single soul. And so she'd gone on, just gone on, and if she'd been a little more hollow inside with each passing year, who had honestly noticed, who'd peeked their noses out of their cotton wool cocoons and perked up their ears, their eyes and hearts, and seen? No one. They'd just let her slip away, quietly, without any words.

Tru wanted to say she was sorry, so sorry, for not being their for Meredith, for being too preoccupied with her own sad, dark world, with seeing but not really thinking, not really taking the time to notice that something, anything, had to be done, that they couldn't lose the last thing they had left, their togetherness, their family. She wanted to say these things to Mere, and more; but there was no Mere, there hardly ever was anymore.

Returning from the bathroom, Tru tried not to let her tears get the better of her. That was just the floor, cold and searing underneath her bare feet, she lied to herself. That was just the thought of the lousy all sleep she'd be getting tonight, with Jack hanging around, messing up her nerves even more. He mightn't have meant it to be that way, at least, not right now – he was sleeping, his back turned to her – but she couldn't help feeling that way. He'd lied to her, deceived her. First, he'd made her care about him, then he'd made her wonder why she'd even ever given a damn – _how_ she'd even given a damn!

But, if just for one night, she decided, that would remain the past, old news. She found something to change into for bed, and traipsed off to change. If Jack hadn't been about, she'd have changed in her bedroom, but she didn't really feel comfortable right now. So she had a bit of a sore spot, what did it matter? Loads of people did, right? Besides, it wasn't some deep-seated body issue, it was a deep-seated Jack issue, which changed everything, apparently. Oh totally!

Coming back from the bathroom, where she'd changed into her night things, she sighed and crossed her arms. "You're seriously going to make me sleep on the couch!" She huffed. "What a charmer!"

To give herself a little credit, she did try sleeping on the couch, then the floor, it just wasn't working out. In the end, she slunk back to the bedroom, relieved to see that Jack hadn't turned over, and snuck into bed, crawling under the blanket as inconspicuously as possible. She'd meant it as a joke, but she realised it probably didn't come out that way; it probably came out a bit bitchy. "Pinch me and you're dead!" Oops... Not that Jack had heard. (Thankfully!)

Settling down to relax for the next couple of hours, if not sleep, Tru sighed lightly and closed her eyes. Great, now she was too hot! Snapping open her eyes, she managed a sidelong glare in Jack's direction, but he didn't notice, he was still asleep. "I see; that's why you're out like a light, is it? You're way into the festive spirit, just like me! Joy of joys, we have something in common! Only, I don't imbibe as much liquor as you, apparently. Fair enough, I'm not Mr. Bad Guy, AKA Death. I guess that job must get pretty stressful, at times. Go fish!" She frowned. "Actually, it's not fish. Fish on the brain, apparently. We had a... goldfish, it was... in our classroom for science class one year..." She trailed off, realising she was talking to no one. "It died! Big hullabaloo. The teacher had it replaced, thinking we'd never guess Bubbles had gone bubble-up. I did. Practically nobody else did. I guess they just didn't care. Fish had gone to Fish Heaven. I dunno. The new fish – I called him newt – was kinda depressed. Like me, at the time, I guess. I felt bad for him, stupid as it sounds. Once, I even dreamt I broke into school and kidnapped him. I think we might have stole a car and went roadtripping to Mexico, but that didn't end well. Well, you know, it was all very Bonnie and Clyde. And... we never actually did make it to Mexico way. Such a let down, at that time. I spent a lot of time in the library, reading about Mexico, after that. Mexico sounded wonderful; home, not so much. Argh!" She sighed heavily.

"I miss my family, what we used to be. You know, the family we used to be. Not that I don't know that's all gone now. 'Cause I do! And Dad, moving to town an' all, just puts it all back there in the forefront of my mind. Yep, that's the guy that ditched us when we needed him most; the guy I strangely still care for, in my own creepy, possibly insane, convoluted way. He's my dad – go figure! But he's not really. My dad anymore, or Mere's or Harry's. Not anymore. All we've got are the memories. And you can't... live on memories! So I'm trying not to. But you saw how he is, even you got that, surely. Charming when the mood takes him, much like you. A total bastard the next. Much like you. I bet you were thinking he's an alright guy. And, I mean, sure; why not? I just... have some things to get straight in my silly head, then I'll be right. Like the fact that he can't just waltz back into our lives like he was never gone – because he was! And it was Hell! He can't just front up and expect to take the place of some guy who left all those years ago, the dad we remember, and loved. It's different, now. I've got friends, a job; Harry and Mere. They're my family. I can't stop him from seeing Harry, but don't think I don't want to fix my eyes on him and... 'Cause I've gotta watch him, and I can't let him hurt Harry. Nope, can't let that happen twice. We got burned before, now all we've got is each other. And I am going to watch him. I'll smile, like the good daughter, happy to have him around, have him back – and I am – but I'll watch him. Nothing is ever easier the second time around. Nothing!"

"That's, ah, real heartbreaking, Tru, but are you gonna let me sleep at all tonight, or is it gonna be The Story of My Life; Heya, My Name's Tru Davies, Otherwise Known As Some Guy's Resentful Daughter... for the rest of the night!" Jack moaned in irritation, startling her momentarily.

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped. "You're just pretending it's my fault you woke up. Really, you're just a terrible sleeper. Or paranoid."

"Why are you still blathering on, woman? Have you any idea of the time?"

She snorted. Yeah, no, she totally _didn__'__t_. Jokes! "Actually, I do! Go back to sleep, Jack, and leave me to do the same," she groused.

"Just don't kick me," he muttered.

"I don't kick people," she muttered back.

"You say that now-"

Tru sat up suddenly, not caring if he was trying to sleep, or if it was dark, or how tired she was, suddenly. "Can it, or I'm sending you to the couch!" she threatened.

"Oooo, I'm scared!"

She growled. "Ha-ha, Mr. Sarcastic Wit, Himself! You're not funny!"

"Wasn't intending to be," Jack returned, and sat up, too, peering at her through the darkness with narrowed eyes.

"Ogler!" she muttered half-heartedly.

"You sound like Tru, but what if you're not!"

"No," she replied dully, "I'm the other one. Meredith. Spooky, or what? I've come to tell you I don't appreciate you making eyes at my baby sister every other day, so drop it, pal! Just drop it, 'cause I know some guys who know some guys, if you catchin' my drift."

"Isn't your sister blonde?"

She rolled her eyes. Trust Jack to know something like that. Must be the creep in him showing through the facade. A rare occasion, she supposed she should have felt privileged. Wow, it was Real Jack, not Fake Jack. And ew! Real Jack was staring at her.

She feigned stupidity, blinking once, then twice, for effect. "What, Tru? Why, no, she's brunette. I thought you knew that, being her stalker and all. My, you're not much of a sleuth, now, are you?"

"I do just fine... when I can get some sleep!" he snapped scathingly.

Dispensing of the niceties. Nice! "Go right ahead," she told him. "I'll just be over here, silently gagging."

He laughed, his eyes flashing in the gloom. "You're a real laugh a minute, Tru!"

"I know," she quipped. "That's why the boys like me so much. Guess you like me too, huh? Unless... you're not a real boy, just a robot, huh?" She sighed, as though it was all very sad.

"I am real. I have no earthly clue why I'm arguing with you about this, but I am real!"

"Not to totally bags your line or anything, but – Oooo! Really? My, my! There's something I never knew before." She started to hum an old lullaby Meredith had used to hum for her as a wee thing, to get her off to sleep in times of trouble. She frowned, and stopped humming. "Yeah? You're really real? Weird. Used to work on me."

"I'm not a baby, or some little kid, Tru! You might have noticed, I don't know, you're kinda hard to read, so-"

"Take that back! I'm just a regular girl, predictable as you please. There's nothing hard about me at all."

"Nothing but your eyes. Or your voice, when you're mad at me for some evil deed you imagine I've done. Or you're sharing your life's story, and Dad just happens to crop up, in conversation."

"Ppff!" She snorted. "Yeah, except for then! Hell, I'm only human, Jack! Being human yourself, you should understand. Have a little heart!" She left the sentence hanging for a second, to be turned over in the silence, then suddenly burst into laughter, as though everything, all of it, was so, so ridiculous, starting with him. "What am I saying?" she cried. "You're not a human being, you only pretend to be! You're a monster! You _take_ people's lives – I _save_ them! Mind you, not all of them. Thanks to my favourite monster. Or should I say, my _least_ favourite monster!"

She patted his arm with a hand, clumsy in the dark. "But don't feel bad! We all get what's coming to us in the end, right? Just like Luc did!" Her eyes narrowed, turning to ice.

He brushed her hand off his arm.

She picked her hand back up, off the mattress, never taking her eyes from his for a second, and slapped him across the face, hard. In the ringing silence that followed, she didn't smile, and he didn't put a hand up to rub his cheek, or frown, feigning hurt. It had hurt, but she already knew it had, and there was really no need to state the obvious. Really none at all.

Even as she raised her hand for a second assault, for another round, inside, she'd gone cold, inside, she was issuing herself a warning; nothing good could come of her behaving like this, so why was she? Why didn't just stop? The slamming of her heart in her chest stopped her from seeing sense, urged her on, and jack, saying nothing, doing _nothing_. Rationally, she knew that he felt, that he had feelings, but she was tired and in a mood, and she couldn't help herself from pushing every damn last button she could get her hands on, just to see what would happen, just to see if the puppet would react.

Her hand came up, but she didn't get to hit him again. This time, Jack caught her wrist, and held onto it. Not painfully, but firmly enough.

Her eyes darkened. Oh, a challenge. Much better than shut eye any day! Suddenly, she leapt at him... and that was where things went from bad to worse.

.

Somehow, they'd ended up on the floor, and were still having it out and struggling a bit when something snapped and Jack kissed her. Or maybe she kissed him? No, this time it definitely wasn't her fault. She'd just wanted to pound him some, was that really so bad? He had other thoughts going on. She should have guessed he was a sucker for the feisty type, but she'd just never thought he'd ever be brave enough to cross that line. He was usually such an according-to-the-rulebook man. Well, his crazy-assed rulebook, anyway. But, sure, in the heat of battle, thoughts often got muddles, rules often became murky. Stuff got in the way, mud, sludge, real life.

If it hadn't, she never would have kissed him back. If it hadn't, there never would have been any discarding of clothes, or any touchy-feely hands.

_Meredith!_

The thought smacked into her like a ton of bricks, knocking Tru suddenly to her senses, snapping her out of her memories and making her blink, a couple of times, and frown at the ceiling, gasping for air. Suddenly, she felt God-awful hot. Much too hot. She knew the memory was real, not just something she'd dreamed up in the spur of the moment, and it made her stomach churn. She felt slightly ill. A hand on her cheek told her she was clammy. Probably pale, too. If only Mere had been close at hand, she'd have felt ten times better; she'd have been able to snuggle up in her big sister's arms and zone out everything else, everything else but the feeling of being loved, and protected.

She wanted Mere. More than anything, at that moment, she wanted her sister. And maybe Harrison. Because she loved him so much, and he loved her just as much. Because he was on her side, and she wished he was happier, and he made her happy, just being there for her, just hanging around, hanging out.

She didn't want to think about Jack; she wanted her family. She wanted to pretend they were the only thing that mattered to her. Nothing else. Just her family, just being a family.

But that wasn't how it worked. So, brushing away hot tears, she lay back down on her bed and closed her eyes once more, just wanting the nightmare to be over, wanting to remember, so she could forget, so she could move on. Just wanting to live through it, and never again!

.

It wasn't the worst thing she could imagine. Okay, so it was bad; she kept flashing back to that moment at the door with Jensen, in her mind; to kissing him... but apart from that, it wasn't horrible, no. At first, it was sorta awkward, all grab, grab, grab. No real sense of orderliness, or art. Then it was kind of... better; comforting.

She didn't even cry. Well, maybe Jack did, a little, but she pretended not to notice. That was charitable of her, right? Not to blow up on him and scream the place down about how he'd really gone and fucked it up, now, with his stupid, blubbering tears, like a whiny, little child! She didn't actually mind, so it was okay.

He liked holding onto her, that was something she noticed. Sometimes, she thought she'd have to slap him, to shock him back to his senses, just to get that weird look out of his eye. She hated those sorts of looks, usually. Well, what was with the sad look, anyway? And what timing! What timing!

But, after a while, he forgot about being sad, and remembered she hadn't ditched him and run. Yes, shockingly, she was still stickin' around. Annoyed that she couldn't tug on his hair, but still, stickin' around.

That was on the floor. For some reason, she liked the floor. The floor was honest; not in the same way that the bed was – the bed was a bragger, always was – but the floor was solid, dependable. Maybe, just maybe, her mind had gone a little hazy. Sometimes, guys did that to her. She didn't count it as a weakness. Feeling stuff wasn't a weakness, especially not the yummy stuff. (Well, maybe if it was Jack... But, like, Jack who? She didn't know any Jacks!)

They didn't stay on the floor, though. The bed was much softer, and, for reasons unknown, the thought of a pillow fight was making her mouth water – in a totally different way that popcorn at the Movies usually did! Then, she'd never been to the Movies with Someone Who Wasn't Jack. Maybe that was something they could work on, aspire to.

(Lying alone on her bed, Tru tried not to gag. She couldn't believe she'd just thought that, or thought it last night. Now she'd never be able to look at popcorn, or smell it, again, without wanting to be sick imminently. Or think about Jack, that creep, and the morgue, and how it got lonely there, sometimes, and how nothing much happened, sometimes, and all of that cold, empty space, and those funny coloured tiles, and the metal examination ta- _Oh __God! __Compunction, __Tru!_ Back to gagging, then...)

Actually, the bed was much nicer than the floor. But, she wasn't so sure she could trust her thoughts, at that point. She kept trying to deny that she knew any such person by the name of Jack, or that they were, like, together. Which was... odd. Then she thought of Jensen, holding up that piece of mistletoe, and them kissing. And how Jack hadn't even got a look like, _Gah! __You__'__re __making __out __with __my __woman, __man! __Not __cool! __And __to __my __face, __dude! __And, __like, __a __whole __bunch __of __other __people, __too. __Plus __Pa. __I__'__m __ruined! __And __lay __offa __my __woman!_

She didn't like Jack; she hated him. She liked Jensen. Hence why they'd been kissing. So, the thing with Jack, this thing, right now, was so way odd, almost beyond comprehension. Not that thinking that stopped her dead in her tracks. She liked Jack well enough now, when she was pretending she didn't no anyone by that name.

(_Oh, __God! __I __should__'__ve __been __a __reporter!_ Tru thought morosely. She never stopped with the internal monologue, did she? Not even... Ugh! No wonder people found her so annoying, at times. She found herself annoying right now! The monologue wasn't helping. Pause and Rewind would have helped, though. Or some notes, maybe. Just something to jog her thoughts.

(Not... that... noise! _I __don__'__t __moan __like __that!_ she wanted to snap. Except when she was hungry, then she turned all shameless and Harrison's sister all over. _Don__'__t __blush, __it__'__s __endearing!_

(_Shut __up, __Tru! __Shut __up __and __get __it __over __with__!_ Best thing to do, really, she decided, and let her mind wander back into her memories...)

Last night, she was thinking how Jack's eyes were kinda pretty, and how she liked looking at them, when they weren't being all... argumentative and tearing chunks off each other. And damn him for having such _Trust __me. __I__'__m __a __good __guy_ eyes! It was kind of contrary to the point, really. He wasn't a good guy, he wasn't trustworthy – he just had nice eyes, and a highly-polished sad puppy look!

Still, she liked his eyes in the half-light, in the gloom, when she couldn't make out the menacingly glint in them so well, when she could easily mistake it for honest human emotion. _Conceited __much, __Tru?_ she chastised herself. _Shut __up! __You __know __he__'__s __thinking __the __same __thing __about __you! __I __must __be __crazy, __but __I __guess __it__'__s __not __so __bad, __being __like __this __just... __for __the __time __being._

Thankfully, she put the running commentary aside for a moment, and went back to kissing Jack. It was his fault, his fault for giving her that look, his fault for having such stupid, ridiculously kissable lips. All his fault. Shouldn't have kissed her to start with; _certainly_ shouldn't have found the small of her back with his hand and pressed it there, underneath her top, his hand making her skin burn where it touched her, where skin touched skin. She wasn't the one kissing and pressing and touching! That was all on him! He'd... got her started!

His fault.

Only, she hadn't tossed him aside like so much filth, a look of pure disgust burning like fire in her eyes, and then proceeded to stomp out of the room and maybe call Harry, who could be persuaded into a brawl or two if it was for a good cause, or family, or return with a frypan.

Nope. She left the frypan in the kitchen, left Harrison to get his sleep, and went on acting all crazy girl instead.

Still, it was nice.

Nice to feel somebody else's body pressed close to hers, to feel the warmth, their heart beating, to hear their breathing and know it was real, they were real, just like she was. She liked that. She even liked the way Jack's hand were gentle on her body, sometimes, and sometimes urgent, not so gentle, but never mean, or harsh. (She didn't know what he thought of her – or her hands – but she wasn't big on fuss over it.)

She liked that he had strong shoulders, and wanted to rest her head there, just for a moment, but there was never the right moment. Still, she kept waiting, watching for her moment.

She liked that he wasn't all _I__'__m __a __man, __and __this __is __what __I __need, __and __now __I__'__m __off __to __get __it! __Grr!_, because he thought about her, too. That was rather nice of him, she thought. So, okay, he _had_ kissed her, and they had been getting pretty rough before that, but he hadn't hit her. She'd hit him, but he hadn't hit her back. He'd just... grabbed her hand.

Afterwards, she felt kind of awkward, out of step with herself. She never got that moment, after all; never got the moment to rest her head on his shoulder and just feel... whatever. She picked up her gear from the floor, and wherever else it was strewn, and walked out, headed for the shower. When she got back from her shower, he was just sitting on the bed.

She kinda wanted to say something then, but she swallowed all ideas she had of opening his mouth and blurting out something stupid, and he got up and walked out. To waste her hot water, she guessed. The sound of the shower running helped her get off to sleep, once she'd laid down, just a little bit, and she didn't hear him come back in, she didn't hear him start crying again. But that was a good thing, because she didn't snap at him. She didn't say anything at all. She was asleep.

He patted her hair and she didn't wake up, and he might've been happy for that small fact. It was late now, and he was tired. If she'd been awake, she wouldn't have let him hold her, but she was asleep, so he told himself it was okay. Just for a moment.

.

Tru stared up at her bedroom ceiling, feeling angry that she had no more answers than she'd had before she'd subjected herself to _that!_, and angry that this had messed things up in her mind so much. She couldn't hardly deny that Jack was human, just like she was, after that, and now, how would she go looking at him when she'd be thinking about all this crap that had happened between them and he'd be thinking about... about all the stuff he always thought about that didn't include that? How would she look at him, at his stupid, sad eyes, and not want to kiss him, not want to make it better, or just okay, for a little bit, between them? Not want to tug on his hair and flash a bit of a smile and rest her head on his chest, near his shoulder? Or any number of things?

And what about... what they'd made? What about it? He, or she, she didn't know. What about their baby?

She just wished she could rewind the day and go home with Jensen instead, even if all they did was talk about penguins, or how he felt about things, or anything at all. She just didn't want... this! This all!

She wanted anything but.


	6. Chapter 6

Calleigh and Harlowe were twelve and eleven, respectively, and Edward Deen seven. Two girls and a boy – again! With one on the way, Richard reminded himself. Calleigh and Harlowe were nothing like Meredith and Tru, and Deen would be nothing like Harrison, when he grew up. Nothing like him. Richard would make sure of that. He was proud of his new kids. They were a handful, could be a handful, but nothing like Elise's brood. They hadn't been spoiled by her, tainted. And he did, he did love them. More than he'd ever loved Elise's lot, he could safely say. Much more.

He was glad he hadn't invited the older ones around for Christmas dinner; watching his younger ones, now, he was glad. They'd only have messed it all up, and wound up Maryelyzabeth.

"Calleigh! The tree's fine; the decoration's _are __fine_! Honestly, you're too fastidious, sometimes. Be cool, kiddo; be cool."

Turning away from the Christmas tree, full to brimming with sparkly, shiny, tinselly things, Calleigh glanced at her father and grinned. She knew she was fastidious, she liked being like that. She giggled and turned back to her younger sister, Harlowe, who was making faces at a card from a board game she'd decided they had to play – trivia, obviously. Harlowe's favourite.

.

There was something Jack knew about Elise that he'd never said, something he hoped he'd never have to say, though he was fairly certain that Richard knew, very well. He just couldn't imagine telling something like that to her children, to Tru and Harrison. He didn't really know Meredith, but he imagined even she'd be pissed, if she knew. Heck, who wouldn't be! But maybe it wouldn't seem as bad, he told himself, given that Richard's secret was still very much a secret. They didn't know who'd been the instigator of their mother's death, and they didn't know why it had been so very urgent for her to go.

Sitting in his car, which was fast approaching chilly, Jack debated calling Richard or not, then decided not. Richard would be at home with the family. If he interrupted him, Richard would be annoyed, then he'd go on being annoyed for the rest of the month. Not a prospect Jack really wanted to think about, so he laid off calling. For tonight, at the very least.

The car wouldn't be so bad for one night, would it?

.

The woman's eyes were sad. She could sense the way things were headed, and she was sad; sad about it all, about what was to come. She told herself that they were strong, that her children would stay strong, would always be strong, even when she was gone; that they would stay together. A family. She imagined what their lives would be like, five, ten years down the track, but none of this comforted her, in reality; it only hurt her more, inside.

She could have cried, then, because she disliked feeling hurt, now, more than ever. Now, because of the baby. She knew it would never really have a life of its own, would never live outside in the world, not this time around, but she couldn't bear the thought of any child of hers hurting. And this little one just broke her heart!

Every day she woke up to the sun on her face, her heart broke all over again, just a little more each time. Every day she packed her kids up and off to school, she fought not to cling to them and tell them over and over how much she loved them; that she'd miss them. That it would be like dying inside, the day she had to forget them.

Now, as she walked down the street, she tried to smile and look a little happier. She didn't stop to talk with anyone she met, so she couldn't say how well her attempts had gone down, she just hoped, just hoped.

.

"What's wrong with it?" the girl asked. His sister, actually. They were knelt on the ground, frowning down at a lizard. A lizard, of all things!

"Hurt," he replied, vague, as usual. Not that that wasn't the honest truth. It was hurt. Quite a bit, in truth.

"What do you think happened to it, Jack?" his sister pressed on, over the drone of the neighbour's lawnmower.

_That, __the __mower_, he wanted to say, but never did. Didn't want to scare his sister. "Somethin'; somethin' bad. Stupid thing."

His sister stared at him, appalled, for a second. Hurt for the little lizard. "How do you mean, 'stupid thing'!" she fired up. "It's not stupid! It's just a lizard! It's not like us... it doesn't know stuff like us!"

"Mmm-hmm," he returned, taking a calm, accepting tone. "No, you're right. Do you see me arguin'?"

His sister folded her arms, always so stubborn, and frowned at him crossly, then looked back down at the lizard lying on their driveway sadly. "Do you think it'll die?" she asked, in a small voice.

"At first," he agreed. He should have been more careful with his words, because the second they'd come out of his mouth, or the very next second, proceeding that one, his sister's eyes got wide and shiny and she choked.

"It's gonna die and then it'll be dead, and then _nothin__'_! _Nothin__'_, Jack! How can you be so dang _cruel_? Honest, times you frighten me with the things you say, and that look you get in your eye, like you're quietly bowin' out of all proceedings here forth. You frighten me, Jack. Senseless! And I really wish you wouldn't!"

He shrugged a shoulder, feigning apology in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't mean it. Y' know that. Mean to frighten you, is that."

His sister held a hand up, silently shushing him. "Jack, this ain't one of those 'boys is jus' diff'rent from girls' things, a'right! An' I get mad at you when you try an' palm everythin' off on the same old, stoopit excuse! So don't! Don't! It don't make me happy to be mad at you! Start seein' reality, for a change, like Mom and Dad keep bangin' on at you 'bout."

Not ready to admit that his sister's words had hurt him, Jack rolled his eyes. "I see reality jus' fine, hon." He threw a glance to the lizard now taking its last breaths on the hot, cracked and mucky concrete of their driveway. "You might wanna see about makin' that thing disappear, snappy-like, 'fore Mom comes out and spies it lyin' there, all dead like. She'd flip for sure. For sure!" And, with that, he strolled away like nothing was the matter, nothing at all, his sister glaring fiercely after him the entire time.

.

They were standing in the park, the one she liked to go to sometimes, and this was a dream. Tru, clearly in the middle of one of her hate sessions, merely throwing him a filthy glower. They'd probably been arguing before that, too.

He wasn't helping matters. He smiled, for a moment, then decided it probably looked goofy, and dropped it. "He drop you, then? Your sweetheart, Jensen? He did, didn't he? That's why you're in such a foul mood today. I was right. He dumped you. Oh, you poor thing! You poor, poor thing, you!" He placed a hand over his heart, for effect. "I feel your pain."

Right, they were banging on about Jensen. Wow, Jensen really was a popular guy lately.

"No you don't," Tru told him flatly. "You don't feel anything. You don't have feelings. You imagine that you do, but you don't. Tell me, how'd they get you on their side? You one of them that got saved when he wasn't meant to, way back when you were an adorable, little thing? I bet they just couldn't resist those blue eyes, cute as buttons, they are. And that's how they got you, isn't it! They said, 'Hey, lookie here, boy. We'll let you go on walking the Earth, even let you keep your creepy, little life... Well, sort of... And all's you gotta do, boy, is be your regular, wacko self! Sounds easy peasy, huh, wacko?' And you said, 'Sure thing, boss! I like bein' wacko! Hell, that's my lucky number! Wacko!'" She laughed irrationally, her eyes sparkling darkly.

"I think it's time we took this conversation to someplace a little warmer, a little more indoors," Jack replied, reaching over to take her elbow. That was right, because it was winter. And cold, like winter liked to get. The day didn't disappoint.

She yanked her arm out of his reach, stepping back sharply. "Don't you touch me, you monster! Don't you dare touch me! I don't need to be contaminated by the likes of you! Tainted! _You __disgust __me!__"_

He smiled condescendingly. "As if that's anything new, Tru. I'm sorry to say, but I've heard it all before. That, and more."

"In fact, don't even _look_ at me!" she spat. "I feel sick whenever you look at me, or smile, like you're the best thing to ever have happened! Sick! You're sick! And you make _me_ feel sick! Just... get out of my face!"

He had the vague feeling of hurt, before the scene skipped, backwards or forwards, he couldn't tell, and then he was saying, "Did Jensen dump you for..." he pretended to be thinking about the name, "Avery?"

"Drop dead!"

"Aggressive, Tru. That's not like you." He made like he was disappointed, and sorta worried. Yes, it wasn't like her, at all. So unlike her, her with the glares and the thinly disgusted hatred bubbling under the surface of her words whenever they happened to share conversation.

"Oops!" If she sounded apologetic, it was nothing more than sarcasm.

He sighed, attempting to disentangle her hands, her graspy, little hands, from his jacket. She'd been holding onto the front of his clothes and was getting it all creased, and she was standing on his feet; one of them, at least. "Tru, relax," he sighed. "I'm not out for blood. I just happened to be taking a walk in the park, and you just happened to be... sitting there... contemplating the deep mysteries of the universe, I can only imagine."

"Go! Away!" she growled, between her teeth. She was still holding onto his jacket, but that fact didn't seem to register in her mind. It was probably the cold, he thought. Getting to her.

"I'm not mad at Dad – I just don't _like __you_! So go away! Go away! Why can't you just _leave __me __alone_?" Her voice had taken on an edge of a whine. Maybe she'd cry, a little later.

He sighed, resting his hands on hers. "Let go of me and I will," he told her calmly. "That sound fair to you?"

Her bottom lip started to tremble and she looked away from him sharply, afraid of the tears in her eyes, afraid he'd see and think he'd won, think her weak, or laugh.

He looked away too. He didn't want to laugh at her, he wanted to tell her to go back inside; it was cold. Not that he would. That would be too... human, and she already had him pegged as... not like that. From the way she talked about him, he may as well have been a robot. A robot wouldn't have given two stuffs, not even if she'd turned into a human popsicle, as she seemed to be trying to do at that very moment.

It had just started to snow again and her hair was collecting the stuff like confetti on someone's wedding day. He didn't mean to stare, not at her, the woman who hated him, but he couldn't help it, couldn't help but stare at the snow falling and catching in her hair. He was torn between wanting to brush it away and wanting to sweep her up into his arms, his imagination running away with him, telling him all sorts of ridiculous things, like how she'd look at him and smile, happy because he'd come to save her, and how she'd be trembling – it was cold – but how she'd feel safer, warmer in his arms.

He was snapped out of that particular fantasy by her muttering, "You make me say stupid things! You make me angry, then I say stupid, angry things! I can't think straight when you're around, crowding up my thoughts with your stupid face!" She wasn't looking at him; she hadn't noticed him staring, or the far-off look in his eyes of earlier. She was glaring at nothing, out across the park. At the snowflakes falling all around them, for all he knew.

She turned to glare at him and one of them landed on her lips. It really didn't help. At all, really.

He still wanted to pull her into his arms, but a bit more than that, too. _No, __Tru __cannot __be __your __Christmas __present __this __year!_ he told himself sternly. _She __has __a __boyfriend. __Zombie __or __no __zombie! __Mind __you, __she __hates __you! __And __you__'__re __supposed __to __hate __her, __too. __Or __something __like __that. __It__'__s __just __not __allowed, __okay! __Richard __would __flip __his __top __if __he __ever __caught __wind __of __so __much __as __a __whisper, __or __a __hint __of __a __whisper, __or __a __rumour, __of __such __a __thing! __Do __think, __man! __Just __think! __And __not... __about __her__!_

"If anything happens to Jensen, so help me God, I will hunt you down like the animal you are, and I will hurt you – I will hurt you so that you won't ever forget, I don't take nonsense from you or your kind-"

"Aren't you just the darlingest thing ever!" he mocked her, in a falsely cooing tone. "The sweetest thing under the sun, I'll bet."

And then the scene shifted again. It was starting to give him a headache. They were sitting on the footpath, looking out over the water and she turned on him with a dark, flinty glare. "Just get out of my life, Jack! I'm sick of seeing you and your ridiculous face!"

Presumably, they'd bumped into one another by accident. Or not. He laughed, a little more amused than he'd have liked. Way to say, 'shit, yeah, I couldn't agree more' (or 'that hurts'). "I'm ridiculous, am I, now?"

"Yep!" (Since when did Tru ever use a word like that?)

"I am?"

"Yep!"

"Not you?"

"Nope!"

"Care to explain that to me?"

"You're a robot, I'm a human being! Explained enough for you, _Jack_!"

He sighed. "I see you're just in a happy, festive mood today. You know what – good for you! Good for you, Tru! I wish you the best of luck with that!" Getting to his feet, he turned away from her, deciding that, actually, he'd changed his mind; he didn't give a damn what happened to her. Why should he, if she didn't? (Oh, so he had cared before. _Duly __noted __and __taken __under __advisement._)

"Stupid robot!" she laughed at him, under her breath.

"Mean human," he muttered back. He was only being truthful.

He'd barely taken two steps before Tru was on her feet and up in his face, grabbing him by the front of his clothes. _"__You!_" she growled, as though maybe, suddenly, _you_ was a dirty word.

He smiled at her. "Actually, my name's Jack," he joked, feigning stupidity. Wasn't she a bit of a hoot! Just comical!

She glared at him through hard, narrowed eyes.

Then:

They'd left the park and were at Tru's apartment. There was that angry vibe in the air, and they were having a bit of a tussle on the floor – would have been magnificent in a downtown bar; bit of a crowd standing by, taking notice, some strobing lights, the after-taste of stale alcohol and cigarettes in the air, the really crappy carpet that made you cough, if you dropped something and leant over to retrieve it – gorgeous! – but, instead, he... kissed her!

Understandably, the fighting kinda came to an end then, but that was by no measure the end of things. After that, stuff started to get real strange. They were kissing and there was clothes being removed and with the sticky eyes, and, gah! It was freaking him out, just... dreamin' about it! Not that he would hate it, if it ever came to that – _Get __real, __Jack!_ – but something about the whole situation seemed kinda dodgy, kinda unsavoury. Like why had he kissed her in the first place? Just because they'd been roughing each other up a bit and emotions had been running high, adrenalin flowing. And then she'd just gone and _let_ him! Nuh-ah! Would never happen. She'd smack him one over the kisser and that would be that, the end of that, and his teeth would hurt – but she absolutely would never, ever kiss him back! He wasn't that damned good with the ladies, by Jesus!

Might have wished he was – in another life – but he just wasn't! So whatever was rockin' here, it wasn't right. It continued to stay not right, from there on in, and stay firmly not right. With the hands and the pulling and the grinding.

Maybe he should have just gone with it – it was only a dream, after all – but it freaked him out, made him wish he'd rethought that idea of lunch. Sure, he'd been hungry at the time, but he knew full well this kind of funky stuff happened to him. Had since forever! So he should've paid heed and pretended like he wasn't really hungry at all, maybe he was comin' down with something and wouldn't feel like eating for a couple days, 'til it passed.

Now, he wished he could disentangle from this messed up dream, just hit the disengage button and return to reality, but he couldn't find the button. Actually, he'd made that bit about there being a button up, there really wasn't a button. He was screwed!

Just as he thought he might be ill, he felt something hard and heavy, moving with momentum, smack into his stomach – something which Goddamn hurt – and the dream/nightmare evaporated on impact. He barely got the car door open before he was being sick in the gutter, his lunch, mixed up with whatever else and an _un_healthy dose of blood making an unsightly mess, his eyes going all icky and watery.

_I__'__m __sorry_, he whispered to no one. _I__'__m __sorry __she __hurts __you, __but __there__'__s __nothing __I __can __do. __I __can__'__t __help __you. __Please, __let __me __go. __Let __me __be. __I__'__m __so, __so __sorry, __darling._

When he was finally back inside the car, he couldn't stop crying. Or maybe that was Bea, crying inside, but with no tears at all on the outside, dry-eyed 'til the last; maybe he was crying for her. Crying because it wasn't right, it wasn't fair.

.

These were the things he never told anyone. Never. These moments, moments that weren't his, but were someone else's, something someone had shared with him, or he'd taken, as they no longer needed them anymore, had passed on to the next life already.

That day that Megan had asked for his help and Tru had been fell with the visions instead of him, he'd felt slighted, in a way, and hurt. He hadn't wanted Tru to have to feel that. That wasn't what she was about. And he hadn't wanted Megan to put it on him to save her. He didn't do that. Save the living who had been destined to die, to move on.

Now, he couldn't stop crying. _Your __own __fault, __your __own __fault_, he kept saying these words over and over in his mind, over and over, because they were true. He'd cut himself off from that world long ago, had confined himself to Richard and Tru's world, and then he'd gone and done a stupid thing, and it had all come rushing back at him like it meant to drown him, drown him to death. And he'd asked for it; he'd looked that little girl in the eye and promised to get her back to someplace safe. And he'd mucked up. Because Mommy got angry, and when Mommy got angry, Bea wasn't safe with Mommy anymore. And he'd delivered her right back to Mommy again; hadn't even thought that she might have been trying to get away, run away. Just thought, _Oh, __you __poor, __little __lost __thing. __Let__'__s __get __you __home, __back __where __you __belong._ What an idiot! An inconsiderate idiot!

And now Bea was hurting and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Pale and shaky, wincing back pain, he gulped down a couple of deep breaths that were meant to help, but honestly didn't, and tried to salvage. What did he know? What could he use? Bea was still alive, that meant he was free to help her as he saw fit, so long as doing so didn't intrude on his work, and wasn't _too_ illegal. What Bea's mom was doing was illegal, too, for heaven's sake!

He turned the car keys in the ignition and started the engine. He couldn't do this on his own, he needed help.

.

"I'm sorry, Jack, but I'm kinda tied up at the moment, you understand." Carrie, hiding away somewhere out of sight and out of earshot, for a moment. Only a moment. "I'd help if I could," she added, a tinge of apology in her otherwise breathy voice. She'd been busy before he'd called and so rudely interrupted.

"Okay, um..." He needn't have said anything; Carrie had already hung up. He breathed deeply, doing his best to fight the ill feeling that was mounting once more, and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking.

Nothing came to him. He refrained from kicking open the car door and being sick, and got back on the road.

The pain got worse, making his vision spotty, at times, blurry at others. He didn't stop the car. He couldn't. If he got to her, he could help her. If she died and asked Tru for help, he'd have to... he'd have to...

"Stop it, Livia! Stop hitting her! STOP HURTING HER!"

Getting angry wasn't going to help, he knew. He had to find Bea. Soon. He had to find her and take her someplace; a hospital, maybe. Anywhere that Livia wasn't.

"Please, please, please! Please! Let me help you! I take back what I said earlier. I do care! I want to help! Just tell me where you are, baby! Tell me, and I'll come! I'll come! Just tell me!"

It was going to be too late, if he didn't hurry, but he didn't want to know about that. He couldn't face that, just at the moment. He had to help Bea. Just help Bea. It was simple, right?

Simple.

.

He never found Bea, but he found the City Morgue, and he found Tru. And there was Bea. This was later; a lot later. It was dark already outside. Dark and cold and unforgiving, claustrophobic.

Tru waited patiently, but Bea never asked her for help.

Jack walked down the hall and bought her a coffee at a vending machine. She didn't even make a dirty face when he offered it to her, just accepted it, her thoughts swirling around the little girl.

Jack didn't want to look at her, or think about the time they'd spent together. About how maybe, just maybe, she'd tried to tell him something important, and he'd just thought, _That__'__s __cute_, and dismissed what she'd said, because she was – _she__'__d __been_ – a kid.

He didn't bother drinking his coffee, he let it go cold. He was thinking about how he'd held Bea in his arms, how she'd been alive, and just... a little kid! A child! And how she'd had her whole future ahead of her.

And what was the point, what was the point of four measly years?

Yeah, okay, he got this. He got how it worked. But it still sucked!

Tru sighed and stroked Bea's cheek with the backs of her fingers, as though fondly.

Jack looked away. "Where's Davis this evening?"

"About," Tru replied vaguely.

"It's unfortunate when they're so young, but, I guess, it happens."

"Wow!" Tru breathed, as though he'd said something really insightful, but he knew she was having one over him; it was her way of being sarcastic. Like he could care less about society, anyway! That's what she was really saying to him. With a faint sigh, she straightened and rubbed the back of her neck with a hand. "Okay, honey," she told Bea. "I'll be waiting to hear from you, if you need me. Hmm." She offered the corpse a smile and turned and headed for the door.

Jack followed her. He knew Bea was already gone. Tru had really only been talking to a corpse. Bea's spirit hadn't hung around; she'd probably known her mom wouldn't be so cut up about her passing, she'd been the one who'd put her in her grave to start with; who'd beat her to death.

Not a nice way to go, Jack thought. In a way, he was glad Bea hadn't asked for Tru's help. He couldn't imagine having to put the little girl through that all over again.

.

Standing in Davis's office, Tru looked sick. Sick and unhappy. And it was little wonder, really.

Jack was thoroughly unhappy. At Livia; at himself, most of all. He could have helped Bea Bea, but he'd been too much of an idiot to see it, at the time.

"Beatrice James. Four years old." Tru sighed, running a hand over her hair.

Jack didn't interrupt or tell her how Beatrice mostly went by Bea. He watched her running a hand over her hair and wished it could have been okay if they could have hugged. Just a hug; he'd have felt better if he'd had a hug.

Tru clawed at her shoulder meaninglessly, her eyes downcast, on the floor, staring endlessly at the glaring tiles whilst her mind wandered, then she looked up and met his eyes.

He wished she hadn't, or he'd been quick enough to look away. He just wanted a hug all the more. From Tru, not from someone else. Just from Tru. She could have used a hug, too. "She won't ask, you know," he told her.

"No, I don't know," she replied, maintaining her cool, calm exterior, for the moment, no longer clawing at her shoulder. "I can wait. I've nowhere to be, no date, no boyfriend waiting on me forlornly. I'm free the whole evening through. I've got nothing but time." Her voice cooled considerably. "I think I'll wait and see what happens before jumping the wagon."

She sighed, casting her glance around the room vaguely, without any real intent, before her eyes slid back to his. "No plans for this evening, Jack?"

"No."

They stood silently for what seemed like a long time, before Tru looked up at some sound in the distance and said, "That's probably Davis. You might want to think about making yourself scarce, Jack. You're not exactly a friend of Davis, and he's not your friend, either. If I gather correctly, he doesn't even like you all that much, come to the truth. And he certainly doesn't trust you." She smiled politely. "I guess that means you've, all of a sudden, got plans for tonight. Make like you're not here!" She shook her head, dropping the cheerful tone of voice. "Or really _just __get __lost_," she finished, her displeasure at his being there clear in her voice, in the couldn't-be-naft tone of her last words and the way she waved her hand dismissively.

"Nah. I... I think I'll stick around. In case you're right about little Beatrice here, and she does decide to ask for your help after all. Children, can't make their minds up."

Tru shot him a deadly glare, then dropped the look when she saw Davis approaching, alarm written in his eyes at the sight of their unwanted guest.

No chance of that hug now.

Davis offered Tru a biscuit from a tin he'd brought with him; apparently Carrie was good at baking cookies and she'd felt like baking some together. It had definitely been a learning curve for him.

Tru took a biscuit and nibbled on the corner of it, nodding to Jack. "The stray's looking a bit mangy. Offer him one, too."

Davis offered Jack a biscuit, looking, for absolutely no other reason but that he wouldn't have to look at him, in the other direction.

"Much appreciated," Jack mumbled, not forgetting his manners, and took a biscuit. Carrie had made these? With Davis? What the hey, they looked edible, and Tru had already started nibbling on hers.

"It's good!" Tru told Davis brightly, but when he left, she turned off the smile and went back to being morose. Nice, playing tea parties when a little girl was lying cold and dead in the room next door, beaten to death for no reason.

"Carrie seems nice," Jack put in, stowing his own biscuit away in a pocket of his jacket.

Tru made a face at him and replied, "It's not poisonous, you know. You can eat it."

"Not hungry," he lied smoothly.

"I don't really know what to make of her," Tru told him. "I just know Davis cares about her, so no funny business. Davis would probably kill you if you hurt her, and he'd probably find a way to do it and get away with it, too. If I were you, I'd keep my nose clean where Carrie is concerned."

Jack sighed, taking a seat on Davis's desk.

Tru shot him a look of annoyance. Tables were for sitting at, not on. And it was Davis's desk! And it was covered in paperwork!

Jack shrugged, pushing aside some papers with a finger. "So, ah, where's Jensen?"

"At home, I would think," Tru replied, nibbling away at her biscuit once more.

"You guys aren't hanging out anymore?"

"Give it a rest," Tru scowled, coming over and prodding him in the leg with a finger. "You can't sit there, it's rude."

He shrugged. "And sometimes, I am. You want me to move, why don't you run off and dob to Davis, then he can come in here and tell me it's rude, too, and I'll tell him the same thing I told you. Like I could care less, babe." He held back a wince at the last minute, wishing he hadn't just let that little 'babe' slip in there like that. Ugh! It sent the wrong message, completely.

Tru laughed, sitting down in Davis's computer chair and pushing the chair back, to the middle of the room, wanting to put a bit of distance between them. "Did I tell you I had a dream about you?" she asked, peering up at the ceiling as though perfectly calm, nothing worrying her at all.

"No, you didn't. What happened? I'm guessing I died. Gruesomely, most likely. Hit me up with the details; I'm dying to know!"

"No, you didn't die," she dismissed. "It wasn't that kind of dream."

He frowned, not quite following her. "It was one of those dreams where we run around town trying to save someone and glaring fiercely at one another most the entire time? Well, you glare at me and I kinda smile like it's funny that you're so affectionate for hating me as much as you do. One of those dreams, or... different-like?"

She rolled her eyes at his description of them, particularly the part where he made out he 'saved' people, and laughed. "Different."

"How so different?"

"You... and I... had a moment!" She made it sound... gossipy, girly. Sorta syrupy and golden, like Drew Barrymore playing at googly-eyed and in love.

"A moment in a fast food restaurant?" he asked, thinking of pancakes and maple syrup, or schoolgirls clustered around a table trading whispers, sly looks, and seemingly random bouts of hysterical laughter.

"No, not a moment in some junk food peddler's establishment! A moment wherein we kissed, you idiot!"

"You're having one over me."

"I kid you not, Jack, there was some serious, full-on pashing action going on."

"And where was Jensen in all of this?" he asked.

"Oh, that's disgusting! Even if you're into exhibitionism, Jensen isn't into voyeurism. Sorry to kill the fantasy for you, but that's just the way it is. Jensen was mysteriously absent, if you must know."

"Kind of like... now?" Jack mentioned.

"Sure, yeah. Except, this was at my place."

"Was Harrison there?"

Tru made a face and dropped her face from the ceiling, shooting him a seriously disturbed glare.

He shrugged. "Harrison and... friend?"

"No, it wasn't a double date. God, the more I learn about you, I swear, the creepier you get! Kinky much?"

"Just a little."

Tru stifled a yawn and looked back up at the bland, boring ceiling.

"Were you pregnant and your father was there and you needed a scapegoat so you just... decided I'd be the one that got scapegoated because, really, I do make it my unhealthy habit to know your every business, even the stuff you don't yet know yourself?"

"Aw, like what colour lingerie you're buying me for our honeymoon in my dream?"

"I suppose."

"Don't tell me; it'll spoil the surprise!"

"No."

"It could have gone down like that, it could have. So, where are we honeymooning? Barbados, Waikiki?"

"Vancouver."

"Let me guess, in the middle of January?" Tru chimed in, playing at cheerfulness.

"Well, we had a conference we simply couldn't say 'no' to. Work, you know how it is."

"Frozen cityscapes and stuffy, overheated hotel rooms! Sounds cosy!" Her eyes sparkled as she smiled up at the ceiling.

"Why is Jensen mysteriously absent?" he asked seriously now.

"Because I didn't marry Jensen, Jack, I married you. And, no, Jensen and I aren't having a bit of a fling on the side. In fact, I'm sure he's perfectly happily pursuing his dream of graduating med school as a fully-fledged MD, as we speak." She sighed. "Do you like the hotel? What do you think of our room? I think it could have been a little more tastefully done, but you know me, always with the high expectations."

"Why did you marry me and not Jensen?"

"I fell in love," she reminisced to the ceiling in dreamy tones.

"With Death?"

"I'm a sucker for a guy with blue eyes and a naughty little smile when no one else is looking but me and him," Tru confessed.

"And we're having a child?"

She smiled. "Hmmm..."

"Well, you're having a child, and I'll just... lie to it."

"You are a master at the art, Jack!" she returned fondly.

The unsettled feeling he'd had throughout this _very_ strange conversation amped up a couple of notches. She must have been taking it harder than he'd thought, Jensen dumping her for a country of complete strangers half a world away.

"So, a boy or a girl?" he asked, trying not to let her know how awkward this conversation felt, and hoping she'd snap out of it soon, start laughing hysterically or something. Anything. This conversation was officially scaring him now, even if he hadn't just shut his dumb mouth. Even if he'd had to go on playing into her little game-of-the-moment.

The truth was, he really didn't want Bea to ask for Tru's help. So, he was keeping Tru's mind off the little girl, in the oft chance that it would help. Not that he really imagined it would.

"It's too early to say, really," Tru replied reasonably.

"Hopefully, we'll find out soon. Terribly excited, I must say!"

She smiled. "What colour lingerie did you get me?"

"Purple." Why not?

"I like it! Do we still have that boring conference to attend, or is that over and done with?"

"What, ah- What conference?" Davis asked from the doorway, with a frown.

The smile wiped from Tru's face in a matter of heartbeats and she spun around in her chair. "Trick question. Jack and I were just passing the time by asking each other completely pointless questions and seeing who could come up with the smoothest lie."

Jack pointed at Tru. "She keeps winning! Mind you, only because she won't stop laughing evilly whenever I try to think of something good."

Tru rolled her eyes. "Pfft! I'm just better than you, Jack, face it. You're getting old."

He laughed, shooting her a glare.

Davis glanced between them, looking genuinely worried. "Okay, well, if anyone needs me, don't hesitate to holler, will you?"

"Sure thing, Davis!" Jack replied winningly.

Tru rolled her eyes again and nodded. If she needed him, she'd holler. "Well?" She looked at Jack pointedly, blowing out a bored breath, waiting on his answer.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course it's over. Thank goodness!"

"Okay!" Tru grinned, tossing her chin, a little shine in her eyes. "I guess that means we've got a whole lot of free time, just the two of us."

"I guess so, honey."

"I think _I_ will go and try on my new lingerie. No peeking! I'll be back for you later!" She grinned, mischief dancing in her dark eyes. She wiped a hand over her brow, sighing heavily. "Uh-oh, I'm just real beat from the long flight, and then the conference. I thought it would _never_ end! Mind giving a girl a hand with her intimate apparel here?"

He scratched his collarbone absently. "Ah, honey, I think that's your phone. You'd better get it, it could be important."

"No way, Jose!" she laughed. "Let it ring! We're on our _honeymoon_, hubba-hubba!"

"It could be Harrison."

She rolled her eyes. "Nope. My magazine subscription. Hanging up right about now!"

"What's the magazine?"

"_Cosmopolitan._"

"We haven't... We haven't really discussed names for the baby."

"We've got _ages_, Jack!" She sighed. "Well, I was thinking Luc, for a boy, and Ellie, for a girl, after my mother, of course. What do you think?"

"Luc?"

"Oh, be-have!"

"So, ah, how's Avery and the gang?"

Tru sighed, getting up out of the computer chair and glaring at him, her hands on the backrest, pushing the chair back over to the desk. "Jack, you suck!"

"Stupid, creepy game."

She snorted and pointed to the floor. "Get off Davis's desk already. Look, there, see, I'm done with the chair. It's all yours, if you want it." She tossed her chin, pushing a few stray tendrils of brown, wavy hair from her face. "I was just proving my point, Jack! You're not as good as you say, by half! Mr. Nothing Gets Me Uncomfortable sure sounded pretty uncomfortable to me. And, Jack, on your own honeymoon, too!" She planted a hand to her chest, pouting. "You let me down!"

"Stupid, creepy game," he muttered again.

She laughed, amused.

_Say __something __funny. __Say __something __funny_, he thought, _so __she __doesn__'__t __suddenly __remember __poor, __little __Bea __in __the __other __room __and __beat __herself __up __over __smiling __once __in __a __while._He would've, but nothing was coming to him. All of the Funny in the world seemed to share in Tru's opinion of him, that he was unsavoury and should be given a wide girth on pain of death. Literally and metaphorically.

He slipped off the desk and made a show of looking her up and down, really hoping he'd be able to pull of the 'naughty little smile' she'd mentioned earlier, in her ramblings. Maybe she'd come after him and threaten to... something. Get brawly with him. Throw him out by his ear, if he was lucky.

He smiled at her, making sure to catch her eye, but she just sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall, apparently disinterested in any game of his. Or maybe he just hadn't done the smile right.

Looking away from the clock once more, she held out her hand and said, "They're not playing our song, but how about a dance, anyway? For old times' sake?"

"For old times' sake," he conceded dully, stepping closer and taking her smaller hand in his own. Her hand was warm, nice.

There wasn't much room in Davis's office, at least, not for dancing, but they seemed to make do, huddling close and going with a basic slow dance. Jack had a feeling this was another of Tru's little tests, and that was why she'd sidled up to him so nice and snugly, but he didn't make comment on it, just enjoyed the relaxed moment between them. At least they weren't glaring at one another, and that sure made a nice change for sore, gritty eyes.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd danced with someone, but here, in this quiet office, with Tru, it felt nice. Holding Tru felt nice. She even relaxed enough to rest her head on his shoulder, and he thought that was nice. Heck, it was Christmas, after all! They didn't have to be arch enemies every day of the year, did they?


	7. Chapter 7

All of a sudden, they came to a wall, and Jack found he was the one backed up against it. He wondered if this was the part where Tru pulled out a scalpel and plied him for answers. If she'd asked nicely, he might just have told her. There had to be a million and one things he could tell her without incriminating, or upsetting, Richard. Random, solitary things, or suitably vague things, momentary distractions for her to preoccupy her worry-prone mind with.

He met her eyes, hoping to get a bearing of her state of mind, and wondered what she'd ask first, or if she'd just insult him, instead. No, of course she wouldn't threaten him with a scalpel. If she'd been that desperate to be rid of him, to eliminate the threat he posed to her job and the people she loved, she'd just have gone out and got a gun, found him, and shot him. If he asked for help and the day rewinded, lucky him; if it didn't, unlucky him, it had been his time, anyway.

But that was something Tru was afraid of, and would always be afraid of. She wasn't a killer; she just wasn't. She might have taken to an unhealthy, unbalanced outlook of her "calling", that didn't mean she was messed up the whole way through.

She had words, and those eyes of hers, so expressive, but she didn't hurt people physically. Why she'd wanted to be a doctor, he honestly couldn't understand. How she'd handle her patients dying, as often happened, depending on the circumstance, he really didn't know. Maybe she didn't know, either; maybe she'd refused to think about it from that angle, and had only looked at it from the vantage point of all the people she'd get the chance to save. And yes, she would save some of them, but not all of them. Not all of them, and that was the part that would sting, that would eat away at her.

And all the more so, he thought, for her having discovered her calling. Only all the more so. She wouldn't understand why some lived and some died, or she wouldn't want to accept it, that it was their choice, whether they comprehended it, or not, not hers, no matter what she did; she would always just be the mechanic, the advisor who knew a little about a little, and, by virtue of her profession, never stopped learning a little more each day.

"I'm not lying, you know," she told him quietly, now. "We really did kiss, in my dream. It wasn't even horrible."

He lifted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Where is this going, Tru?"

Panic flashed in her eyes, desperate and urgent. Her heart pounded wildly, making it hard for her to think, to decide what to do next. She didn't want this thing to go on any longer, she didn't want to live not knowing, not being able to trust herself.

Her chest was heaving but she didn't take her eyes off of his. Not until she scooped up his hand and lifted it in her own hand, resting it on her abdomen underneath her top. "Jensen's going to Africa to do aid work," she said. "I only found out today."

"And what has that got to do with us here now?" Jack asked. Had to ask, she was acting so strange.

She shuffled closer to him, and pressed her lips against his, heart going like crazy, and that was when she knew, when it was confirmed for her. Not just a dream, never just a dream. Her heart sunk. She'd been hoping, hoping like mad, that it had all just been some crazy dream, but she knew now, nope, it had been real. Just as real as this, now.

So here she was, stuck. They were in it for the long haul, together. At least, they would be... if she could just find a way to tell him what had happened, as horrible as it would sound. Maybe he wouldn't believe her, or he'd think she'd drugged him somehow – it had been her party, after all – but she'd have to be firm with him, make him understand the danger in this, in this unknown thing between them.

She kissed him harder, waiting for him to respond, waiting for his hand to slide over her abdomen, sending little shivers through her skin and along her spine, and slide into the small of her back, just as she remembered, just like last time.

It didn't happen. His mind was probably on the little girl in the other room, calculating, always calculating. Variables, angles, how best to "win". She hated him for that, then, but she also respected him. He, at least, could keep his mind on the job, could give Bea a couple of minutes out of his day. She wished she could have, too, but this was important.

And it frightened her. More than could be put into words. Why this? Why now? And why did it have to involve Jack?

"We've done this before," she whispered, catching his eye. "Why are you suddenly acting all shy on me?"

"Before, in your dream, Tru." There was an edge of danger to his voice now. He was convinced she was having some kind of episode, she supposed. If only he knew!

"Not just in my dream," she breathed.

"Not now, no," he agreed.

She sighed. She could've just smacked him upside the head for all his stupidity. He was being deliberately, unhelpfully dim, but still, she didn't get the feeling he was the one behind this.

"I told you, Jensen and I are over," she said, trying a different approach.

Jack frowned, trying his hardest not to raise his voice, not to scare her, but she was scaring _him_! "So what, you're not going to wait for him. How does that make me next in line, Tru? Tell me, _how_?" He forced himself to take a calmer tone. "I just don't understand you today."

"Then you're not interested, in the slightest?"

"No! I didn't say that, Tru! Don't you understand, this is just... unfathomable! We're on different sides her, darling, and I don't see that changing any time soon. So how can this... if we ever allowed a 'this' to develop – how can it ever hope to work?" He touched her cheek with his free hand, then let it drop. "I'm not going to join you on your crusade, Tru! I just won't!"

"Then... maybe I could live with that," she suggested quietly, making his eyes flash.

He shook his head. "No! You could _never_ live with that! Don't lie, Tru! Not to me, not to _yourself_! Where is this all coming from suddenly, hey? Where is it coming from? This isn't just about Jensen leaving you, it's about something else, too. What is it?"

"Kiss me."

"No. I'm not playing this game with you, Tru. Not anymore. Talk to me now, or I walk away."

She brushed his hand from underneath her top angrily and stepped back from him, her movements jerky, unco-ordinated, crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn't want it to be true," she spat, her eyes simmering with the beginnings of tears, "but now I see that it is, and I hate you so, so much! Even more than I did before, if you can believe that!"

"You hate me?"

"I _hate_ you!" She said the word like she was choking on it, drowning in it, like it could kill her, if it wanted to.

He looked into her eyes. All he wanted was a straight answer, not her funny, little games. No more of the games. "What happened, Tru?"

Tears burst in her eyes, pouring down her face. "We didn't just kiss," she whispered, her voice close to breaking. "We did more. And now you don't _remember_!" Her shoulders shook and she dropped her face, chocolate-coloured hair cascading about her face and hands, hiding her face away, her thoughts and anguishes.

Jack thought back to the dream, back to that strange, alarming dream in the car. Surely she wasn't talking about that, was she? It... it was nothing more than a dream. It had to be, right?

"Tru, I had the same dream. But that's all it was, a dream! You! Silly, silly you!" He reached out a hand to lift her chin, to brush the hair from her face and make her take her hands away from her face and open her eyes and look at him. "It was just a dream!"

Lowering shaking hands from her face, she reached from him, tracing a line across the scar underneath his clothes.

"That doesn't prove anything," he told her, in dismissal. "Tyler spilt his drink on me, remember. I had to take my shirt off so you could wash the stain out of it and dry it."

"He didn't, he never did that," Tru whispered brokenly. "That was a lie I made up. I... I didn't want to believe what had happened, and I didn't know how to tell you. I was afraid!"

Jack frowned, picking up her hand in his own and thinking about what she'd said, about how he couldn't actually remember Tyler spilling his drink on him. "Why-?" He looked at her hand, clasped between both of his, stared at it, remembering Megan, Megan, in his dream.

He felt sick.

He let go of Tru's hand and looked away from her, feeling too sick to look at her just then, to formulate the words to tell her what he thought had happened, was happening. Or at least, Megan's theory.

Tru stood there, no longer crying, silent sobs shaking her shoulders even still. Waiting.

"Look, Tru-! Okay. Okay. I believe you! I'll do the right thing by you, by this baby. But I won't... I won't stop doing... this, my job! I won't!"

She shook her head, sniffing.

He looked back to her face, to her tear-bloated eyes and pink cheeks, runny with cold tears. Touched her face again.

"I understand," she whispered.

He let his shoulders slump, let the tiredness he felt finally show on his features, in his eyes. "Tru, I'm sorry. I had no idea this was going to happen. If I had, I would have taken steps. A part of me still doesn't want to accept the truth, but I trust you. I believe you. This Calling, it's not glamorous, and it takes you to places you think you never want to go to again, and then it does it all over again, but this... this just bowled me over. Even me, Tru. I don't know what to say." He stepped away from the wall, reaching over for a tissue from the box on Davis's desk, and passed it to her.

She took it and crumpled it up in her fingers, and wiped her cheeks. Her shoulders had stopped shaking, now, and her breathing wasn't as bad, either. She was doing okay.

She struggled to get the words out. "If... if... Will it go away, if we choose this? If we..."

"If we choose to be together?" Jack finished for her, and shook his head, looking sad. The plain and simple truth was that he didn't know, and he told her that. "I don't know, Tru. Honest, I don't. Wish I did!" He laughed bitterly. _Yeah._ "But I don't."

She reached a hand out for his. "I never want to feel that way again, that powerless over my own body! Please, I want... I want to do something! I can't just... wait, never knowing when... when...!" She grasped his hand and held onto it tightly.

"We can try," he finally sighed, offering a small smile that he hoped would help... even if just a little.

This! This was way outta line, and Richard had had no right keeping it from him! For that, he was angry. More than angry – furious! But he wouldn't let on to the older man, not just yet. He had a feeling Richard couldn't be trusted the whole hundred percent, and had had for a while now, and if Tru and he were really going to have a child together, he wouldn't let someone like Richard – even if he'd be the kid's grandfather – put his child in danger.

No way in Hell!


	8. Chapter 8

It had happened when they'd been very young: their parents had died in a car crash. After that, he and his sister had been put into the care of the State. He was older by four years. McCoy had been two; he'd been six. He never called her McCoy, he remembered. Had always called her Jojo, or Jolene, Joey. Anything but McCoy. Her mother had wanted to name her Joy, but his father had had his heart set on Michaela, and so they'd chosen McCoy. A compromise for both of them. Jack would never call her by that name, though. Her birth hadn't been a joyful one; it had hurt their mother. After McCoy came, there wasn't to be any other siblings, ever. Nobody blamed McCoy, but Jack remembered wanting a little brother. His mother had said, "It's a boy, for sure!" and he'd believed her. So he'd expected Joseph, not McCoy. And then McCoy had come, just as if she'd come for him, to upend all of his dreams and plans.

He had loved her anyway. He couldn't help it. She was his baby sister.

At two, Jojo would never remember their parents. This had troubled him, but when McCoy had been taken away from him, that had wiped everything else off the planet, every other trouble he'd ever felt. Eclipsed! McCoy was his. His baby sister! He wouldn't be able to live without her; they'd been together near on their entire lives. He'd thought for sure McCoy would come back – McCoy wasn't a normal name for a girl, a good name for a girl – in the end, in a couple of weeks, she would return. But she never did: the family had wanted to keep her. And so he'd lost her. Never any chance to say "goodbye", never any chance to call her by her real name, just once. Just gone.

At first, he refused to accept the fact. He'd pretend McCoy wasn't really gone. Sometimes, it would even seem as though she was really there, with him. After school, they would sit down and talk about their day. Sometimes, McCoy was older – older than he was, even – at other times she was younger, or how old she would be, out in the world. Sometimes, they lived in a house in town, other times, on a farm, or someplace far away they'd, both of them, never been to and could only dream of. It never bothered him that McCoy wasn't real.

It bothered his foster families, however. They often sent him off to therapy. He never said anything then. He just shut down. McCoy was real for _him_ – was that such a bad thing? He wasn't alone when McCoy was with him.

He was seventeen when McCoy had to have her appendix out. Before that, he'd always believed that McCoy wasn't real – that, for him, she was no longer real, no longer really with him – and he hadn't given a damn, either way. But then McCoy had got sick, had had to go to hospital, have an operation. There was so much pain, so much fear. Poor McCoy, scared half out of her mind, afraid she was going to die, that she'd have to leave Mom and Dad. After that, it all became clear to him. He was different. He didn't work the way other people did. Not even McCoy's scar bothered him. He wasn't alone anymore, Jojo was real, had probably, mostly, always been real. He could breathe again, live again. One day, they would meet again, but until then, being apart was okay, too.

They never had met again, he was still waiting.

.

Tru stepped away from the filing cabinet which she'd been leaning against in Davis's office, when Davis walked in to inform her they had another body. The fourteen-year-old girl they'd heard about on the news who'd gone missing, Tyler. She wasn't missing any longer, the poor thing. It looked as though she'd been gone for quite a while, he couldn't tell how long, not yet, but he'd get right on it.

Tru nodded, casting a glance in Jack's direction. He'd fallen asleep and looked to still be asleep. She didn't go over and wake him; if Tyler asked for her help, it would be so much better this way.

Sighing, she headed for the door with Davis, closing the door after her quietly.

If Tyler asked for her help, maybe she could save little Beatrice, too.

.

When Tyler turned and fixed bright green eyes to her own brown ones and whispered, "Save me!", Tru expected to wake up in her bed, dread heavy on her chest, in her lungs, but instead she woke on the floor with a sore shoulder. What was more, it was still dark. Stumbling for the light switch in the dark of her apartment, she finally flipped the light and stared at the clock in confusion for a full second before it hit her – her day had rewinded a little farther than she'd expected! After traipsing back to her room and discovering Jack crashing in her bed, she'd stomped off and gone to lie down on the couch – where she must have fallen asleep. Only to tumble off onto the floor, and wake soon after. Hence the aching shoulder.

Her heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, she could have laughed with joy. So Jack and she hadn't...! She didn't wait for that particular experience to repeat itself, but grabbed her keys and sped out the door. She had some people to save!

.

The next time she saw Jack, he didn't look happy. "Beatrice never asked for your help, did she? It was just Tyler."

She looked away from him, dismissing the dark look her was shooting her: Messing with the universe again!

She sighed finally, crossing her arms before turning to meet his eyes. "What do you want, Jack? I won this round. You still haven't learnt how to lose graciously, have you? Don't you think it's about time – because I will never – never! – give up on helping people who need me, on saving them!"

"Don't kid yourself, Tru! What you did for Beatrice – that wasn't _helping_ her! You're _hurting_ her! Her spirit! Now, because of you, that appointment she has with Destiny is all messed up. Now you've messed her life up not _once_, but _twice_!" He stepped closer to her, anger shining dark and dangerous in his eyes.

Tru would have backed away, but that would be letting Jack know he'd got to her, so she stayed exactly where she was, standing her ground determinately.

"After Jensen, I thought you would have learned your lesson, Tru," he growled, "but you're not as smart as you think. In reality, you have _no_ clue!"

"And you think you do!" she spat back furiously. "That little girl didn't ask for my help for one reason, and one reason only, _Jack_! She'd given up hope of ever finding anyone she could trust, because of what she'd been through! I wasn't about to let her down again! How could you think I could just _let_ that go – let the death of an innocent four-year-old child _go_, _Jack_?" Her voice had taken on a deadly edge, but she didn't care if she pissed Jack off. She didn't care how angry she made him – _she_ was angry!

She lifted her chin, glaring daggers at him. "You're wrong! You're messed up, Jack! Get help!" Then, she spun on her heel and left him standing there, scowling after her.

.

Tru bit back a sob, tears bursting in her eyes, making the world around her wobbly and watery, weak. Her legs felt weak, too weak to hold her up. She made it 'round the corner, out of sight, and fell against the wall, tears pouring down her face.

Where did Jack get off putting her down? He was bloody insane! Didn't he see that? How could he _not_ see that? There was nothing wrong with Beatrice! Thanks to her, that little girl was _alive_! How could that be a bad thing? No way! Tru just couldn't see it. Couldn't see how alive and breathing could be worse than the horrible death that had awaited Beatrice had she not stepped in and saved her. Jack was deluded, it was as plain as that.

Hugging her stomach, Tru's breathing finally started to even out, to calm. "It'll be okay, baby," she whispered. "Sometimes Mommy and Daddy are going to argue. It doesn't mean we don't love you, very much."

That was when it hit her, like a punch to the stomach, bringing fresh tears to her earthy brown eyes. She was talking to _herself_! There never would be any baby, there _was_ no baby, she wasn't pregnant. Time had rewound, everything had changed, this time around. She'd lost her baby!

The world spun crazily and she slipped down the wall, at a loss for what to feel, what to think; everything was numb, everything was too much! She wanted her baby back!

.

"Oh, boy!" Carrie sighed heavily, tossing her chin the barman's way. "Bartender! Double scotch, straight up." She unfolded a note and dropped in onto the bar before returning her gaze to Jack. "The girl is mad at you!"

He shrugged one shoulder. "She'll live. If she's lucky."

Carrie laughed. "Cute, Jack!"

"I'm not paid to be cute, Car. I'm paid to do my job." Glaring at her, he stood up and made to leave.

Carrie caught his arm, prompting him to turn back and meet her eye once more. "Look, I'm sorry. I know it mustn't be easy, Jack, even knowing that you're doing the right thing. Know I didn't mean to insult you."

"I know," he muttered, more to her tumbler than to her, to the ice left alone in the bottom of the glass.

She sighed. "You're right. She'll live. She's tough, everybody says so. And I've seen it with my own two eyes just how tough she is. That girl is a machine!" She smiled an amused half-smile, tossing her head. "Nothin' to worry 'bout!" she laughed. She let go of his arm. "Don't take it so hard. Enjoy your night, hey!"

Jack said nothing but looked at the floor, and turned and walked off.

Carrie sighed, then nodded to the bartender who'd returned with her scotch. She drank it in one go and slipped off her barstool. Now she had somewhere to be!

.

"How long will you be gone?" Tru asked earnestly.

"I... honestly don't know," Jensen admitted, frowning down at his coffee. He reached over the table to place his hand over hers. "Hey!"

"Hey," she returned, slightly sadly.

"I won't be gone forever, you know," he said. The door to the diner opened, bringing with it a gust of cold wind that slapped against their faces.

Tru smiled sadly. The door jangled closed. The warmth nestled closer again.

Jensen smiled back. Felt it was the right thing to do. At least, he hoped he'd feel ready to come home one day, if for nothing else, then for Tru.

.

The music from the club was too loud now, it pounded in his head, chipping away at his last handle on reality, on sanity. He'd come here to be amongst the living, but now he was hiding out in the toilet, away from it all, from everyone. Perhaps Tru was right, perhaps he was a killer. He must've killed a lot of people's hopes over the years. But not tonight.

Damn her, but she'd got to him. _Bea_ had got to him. So now he was going out, he'd go out there and find her, and he'd bring her home, bring her spirit back to her body, back to this life.

There would be consequences, he knew that, but he also knew that Bea hadn't had any other engagements. She'd just been unlucky. He'd meant to have got to her in time, he'd meant to have saved her, but he'd failed. It was time to put things right. He didn't like to let people down, either, it wasn't just Tru who felt that way, who sometimes felt utterly powerless in this world and who, consequently, took too much onto her shoulders, who knew someone should have been able to do something, yet no one was, so she unconsciously assigned that someone to be her. The only difference was, he knew that he could never hope to win alone; it had to be a team effort. The world didn't change because one person sacrificed themselves – their life, and everything they could accomplish, everything they could experience – for the greater good, and nobody knew. Nobody stood alone and won.

He fought back a wave of nausea and pain and told himself that soon, very soon, Bea would be coming home. What did the pain matter – his little girl was coming home!

Maybe, just maybe, whilst he was out there, he'd give Jensen a bit of a tug, a bit of a hand. The boy was hanging on tight, holding onto his life with a death grip. Maybe it wasn't his time to leave just yet. Maybe...

.

Carrie touched a hand to her forehead, feeling the headache that was mounting there and asking it to, please!, leave it for another time. Right now, she'd slipped a disc into the stereo and turned the music up loud. Davis would materialise any second, looking worried.

She closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the beat, letting the music take her. She felt like crap.

She swayed to the music, catching the rhythm at last. A smile found its way to her lips. Moving to the music, already floating away from all of her troubles on the back of a throbbing dance beat, she could pretend everything was fine, _she_ was fine. She could lie to herself.

She felt warm and at ease. When she opened her eyes finally, she found Davis making his way over, a frown marring his face, his pretty, prone-to-bouts-of-skittishness eyes.

Her eyes smouldered from underneath thick lashes, and she sidled up to him, smiling meaningfully. She was feeling playful. For one frozen heartbeat, she hesitated, afraid he might not like what he saw, might not like this different Carrie.

As she watched, heart hammering, the worry in Davis's eyes melted, replaced by dumbstruck. Carrie didn't let that get her down, though. Nothing would stop her tonight, she was in a mood she liked and she intended on making the best of it. Davis would come 'round. She had a feeling he was well on his way there, already.

She let her hands find his tie and smoothed her palms against his chest, liking what she felt, her eyes sparkling into his, casting their dark spell. When she felt the time was right, she brought her lips to his for a warm, reassuring kiss, sliding a hand around to the back of his neck. At first, it was just a kiss, nothing more demanding than that, but as the kiss deepened, she pressed herself closer, melding their bodies together. A thrill of sensation coursed through her veins, setting her heart on fire, and she felt him relax, trusting her, falling under her spell.

She felt the change in him, in the way he held himself to her, in his intent, the second he did, and her mind started to spin, anticipating all the delicious avenues they might travel down tonight. Her palms itched, asking, begging, for something to do, craving something to touch, to squeeze. Her hand tingled on his chest, making her mind up for her, and she slid her hand from his chest hotly, pushing it lower, fingers whispering across his abdomen. She felt him shiver and she shivered with him. When her hand moved lower still, plunging into the waistband of his pants, he suddenly stilled. Her stomach twisted in anticipation.

He wanted this. Wanted her, for now. Which was nice, Carrie supposed, hoping she hadn't frightened him off by taking things too fast. She would soon see.

He didn't pull away from her, and a smile curved her lips. Maybe tonight she'd be able to forget. She pulled back from the hungry kiss they shared, brushing her lips against his ear, and whispered, "Come with me!"

He followed where she led without a second thought.

.

Feeling the familiar tears budding in her eyes, Carrie quickly swallowed the lump in her throat and any ideas of sobbing, pulling back her hair into a quick ponytail. Checking the mirror, she saw that it was a bit messy but couldn't be stuffed caring.

It had been fun, with Davis, but- Well, it wasn't him. It was her. She had issues, problems. Challenges to overcome, as she tried to look at them, on a good day.

The woman in the mirror didn't look like her. She was pale, almost gaunt, her eyes tearful. The heavy, black mascara looked garish now; an ill attempt to make herself seem appealing, sexy. Her eyes no longer smouldered; they were swimming with unshed tears, her hands shook on the zip on her skirt. Her bra had left marks against her skin, marks that would be back again tomorrow, now that she was wearing it again.

Carrie let her hands drop from her skirt and gripped the bathroom counter as though for dear life, her hands going white how hard she was clutching it, hurting. She bowed her head, ashamed at herself for her everything she wasn't capable of, everything she couldn't share – her heart, for instance – and felt the first tear fall, the first nail in her coffin.

"Carrie? Are you alright?"

Her head snapped up, fear flashing in her eyes, making them seem more watery, more permeable, her soul on show for anyone who cared to look deep enough, hard enough. She started to speak, but froze. Swallowed and tried again. "Fine!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah!" To her credit, she even managed a halfway believable laugh, tacked on at the end in haste. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, invisible to the naked eye.

From the other side of the door, she heard Davis's soft voice, unsure. "Do you need some... h-help? With... with anything?"

Hearing his uncertainty, Carrie very nearly dissolved into tears all over again. Then she caught her reflection in the mirror and stopped herself. All of this was her own fault – and her responsibility. She'd got herself into this mess, she'd deal with it and it would all work out alright! Time to toughen up, time to find a bone of braveness inside her. Davis didn't deserve this – _her_ tears!

She brushed her tears away hastily and was reaching for the tap to splash water on her face – "I'll be out in just a moment, Da-" – when her gaze collided with the mirror once more, slipping over her mirror image's shoulder with a little shiver of terror.

Davis!

She grew instantly defensive, her eyes hardening over, returning to normal, or normal from Davis's point of view. She started to turn, to face him, when he stepped closer and pressed his cheek against her back, arms wrapping around her middle, holding her close. Keeping her close.

The ice in her eyes wavered, melting a little around the edges, and she, at long last, let herself relax, let herself fall into the embrace, her eyes fluttering closed. _Don__'__t __think_, she ordered herself silently. _Don__'__t __think. __Just __feel._ So she did.

She felt warm, she felt comforted, with Davis's arms around her. Not alone.

.

Davis slowly turned her to face him, seeking out her eyes with his own, nothing but tenderness there to meet her fear-tinged uncertainty. She fell into his gaze, into every single unspoken promise offered. His hands slipped down her arms, and his eyes were momentarily distracted by an old scar. He traced a thumb over the scar and she shivered, but it wasn't a bad kind of shiver. It was the good kind.

Finally, he brought his eyes back up to hers. "Please stay," he breathed.

She couldn't speak, her throat was blocked up, her heart pounding furiously. All she could do was nod.

She would stay.


	9. Chapter 9

**Six months later**

Tru smiled, waiting patiently for Jensen to make his way over to where she stood, people moving all about them, other families and friends, other travellers just arrived from somewhere else. The airport was busy. She hadn't thought it would, but all of the bustle made her feel flustered, unsure. She just wanted to get to Jensen, to throw her arms around him and hold him for a couple of peaceful moments and block out the rest of the world. She still had her big news to break to him, too, she reminded herself, her smile widening when she saw him smiling back at her, looking all Jensen-ish and making her heart race.

He looked perfect, just as she'd hoped her would. Alive.

Avery gave a very heavy sigh, standing at her side with her arms crossed over her chest. "Pick up your feet, you!" she yelled, on tiptoe, over the heads of other people bustling here and there, then pasted a suitably irritable glare to her face.

Jensen arrived at last, grinning back at them both.

Avery played up how unimpressed she was with him, muttering, "Bum!"

He laughed, reaching over to pat her hair.

She swatted his hand away quickly, shooting him down with just her eyes alone.

He took her disapproval in stride and turned to Tru. There was a moment when they merely looked at one another, their eyes meeting, all of the things they wanted to say, were dying to ask, dancing in their eyes. Then they stepped closer, closing the gaping distance that had suddenly sprung up between them like a deep, dark canyon, Jensen taking Tru in his arms and holding her tightly.

Avery cut her eyes to his and rolled her eyes, looking away with a sigh that silently (not very secretly) translated to, _Oh__man!_

Tru and Jensen stood like that for a long time, just holding each other, until Avery nudged Jensen's shoe with her own and cleared her throat sort of loudly.

Jensen smiled and relaxed, letting go of Tru and stepping back, giving her some space.

Avery coughed, mumbling quickly, "News!" Then coughed again. Hint, hint!

Tru's eyes never left Jensen's. It was hard for her not to reach out and grasp his hand, and hold on for dear life. She'd missed him! Like crazy. "Jensen," she began formally, "I have something to tell you."

"I'm here," he said, grinning and tossing his head, "I'm listening."

An ecstatic smile lit up Tru's face and she clapped a hand over her mouth, not knowing what to say next, how to stop her heart beating like this. There had to be an entire circus prancing around in her chest! "I have a niece, now. My older sister, Meredith, adopted a little girl. Ugh! I might have, sort of, talked her into it!" she told him, with much hand waving and face patting. "Her name is Beatrice and she's four."

"Five in six weeks," Avery added curtly, her eyes glued to her shoes, arms crossed casually.

Jensen met Tru's news with a smile, one for her, and one for Avery, who was suitably busy making eyes at the floor. "That's wonderful," he said, reaching for Tru's arm and giving it a little squeeze. "As garish as this might sound, I'm proud of you. Wow. An aunt. Gosh!"

Tru laughed, her cheeks colouring. She swung 'round to look at Avery, who looked up from her shoes, at last.

"We should probably let Jensen collect his stuff before it grows arms and elopes with a handsome, sweet-talkin' stranger," she said in a bored voice.

"Yeah," Tru agreed.

They all traipsed off to the baggage collection area, Tru and Jensen walking side by side, and Avery hanging back a bit, picking half-heartedly at the elastic band on her wrist.

.

Outside, walking to Tru's car, Avery sung loudly from memory a pop song she'd just heard that day, whilst waiting for Jensen's flight to get in, complete with hand gestures and wiggling. Tru and Jensen were holding hands, Tru all smiles. Avery had mentioned that she was hungry and would need to stop and refuel _very_ soon. Gravel crunched under their shoes, but Tru hardly noticed the sound, wrapped up in conversation with Jensen, in catching up on everything she'd missed.

When they reached the car, Avery yanked everything out of Jensen's hands and shoved it into the back of Tru's car, slammed the boot shut, and proceeded to direct Jensen to the front of the car with a shove in the small of his back.

"Blood glucose levels plummeting here!" she reminded her two friends grumpily, grabbing the door and pulling it open, then shooting Jensen a dirty look that meant _get __in, __thing! __My __stomach__'__s __waiting!_

.

They stopped at the diner for something to eat, finding a parking spot for the car nearby. As they were heading up the footpath, Tru leaned closer to Jensen to tell him quietly, "She's just adorable!"

He frowned, sort of smiling at the same time. "How is your sister finding being a mother, all of a sudden?"

"I think Bea's been good for her. She was always a little... flighty, but she's really settled down now. I'm impressed, absolutely." She flopped a hand over her eyes, sighing with relief. "I'm just sooo happy I finally managed to talk her into it!" She made a whiny noise and frowned at him, then asked, "How was your flight? I'm sorry! I've been talking about me this whole time, I forgot to ask!"

"No, that's okay," Jensen told her. "I was happy to listen. Yeah, it gave me a chance to catch up on some much-appreciated sleep – always a plus, I find."

"Aw, your hair looks messy."

"Really?" Jensen patted his hair, looking slightly worried.

She laughed and batted at his arm with a hand, her eyes sparkling. "You're so funny!"

"I was, um, told that's what the girls like," he replied, a little bit not-quite-sure, and shot her a playful wink. "And how are you? How have things been in your world?"

"Good." She smiled at him.

"Good to hear," he replied, and got the door for her.

"Thank you!"

"Tah," Avery muttered, following Tru inside.

Tru sighed and turned back to her friends. "What sounds good to you guys?"

Once they'd ordered, they took seats at a table near the windows and waited for their orders to come out, Avery telling them both the latest from her neck o' the woods, that her cousin, whom she affectionately liked to call Bratty 2000, would be coming to visit for a couple of days and she couldn't wait for that to be done and dead, ancient history. She didn't get along with her cousin, speaking of which, it was totally awesome that Tru and Meredith were so close.

Tru smiled and didn't interrupt to counter Avery's assumption. She was proud of Meredith, and so very thankful that she'd decided to take Beatrice on and adopt her. That poor girl had been through Hell and Tru was just glad she wouldn't have to face something like that again. Meredith had really cleaned up her act, from what she'd seen, and she would do Bea a world of good, and Bea would do her a world of good. Smiles all 'round then.

"Are you alright, Tru?" Avery asked, all of a sudden, and Tru realised that the conversation had died down. Jensen was talking on his cell phone, across the table, and Avery was frowning at her.

At first, Tru didn't know why, but then she noticed her hand resting on her stomach and felt a stab of panic, followed by the tiniest hint of a blush. "Ah, yeah. I'm just hungry," she lied, giving a small laugh. "I was rushed this morning so I skipped breakfast."

Avery smiled at her. "Let me know next time, okay. I'd have got you something from the caf during break."

Tru shook her head. "The professor was so grouchy today! We must have only had, what?, all of five minutes for break! No way! You wouldn't have even made it out the door and back again in that amount of time."

"Oh, I'm fast," Avery assured her. "When it comes to the important things, hon, I can work it." She grinned.

Tru laughed. "Thanks, Ave. Next time, I'll let you know."

"Yeah."

It would have been nice to be able to tell Avery the truth, Tru thought, not to have to make things up whenever her friends asked her anything, but the reality was, her life just sucked sometimes. Sometimes, it really was a shambles. And even having friends at all – was a miracle in itself. She counted herself lucky for anyone who cared about her, who still gave a damn. So, so lucky.

It could easily have worked out another way, and then she'd be miserable and depressed and lonely, like Jack. Doing this job, the possibility was always there. In the end, it could so easily snap its fingers and take everything and everyone you'd ever cared for from you in the wink of an eye. Maybe she was selfish, or an idiot, to still want to have friends, to still want love, but it was her life and she'd decided that she wasn't putting it on hold for her Calling. She was still going to live her life, even if Jack was too damned chicken to live his.

Once, she'd felt sorry for him, but now, not so much. He still had the choice, the same choice she was faced with every day, he just chose to make the crappy one, time after time. It was his choice, his life. She didn't feel sorry for him anymore, she just thought him a fool. In the long run, he was a fool. He was the one messing things up for himself, not Fate or Destiny or the Powers That Be. Jack. Only Jack.

.

After lunch at the diner, Tru dropped Avery off at the university to catch up on some 'light reading', as she'd put it, and drove back to her apartment. She'd have dropped Jensen off at his place but he'd told her he hadn't held onto it so basically... that idea was a bust. When she offered to show him the photographs she had of Meredith and Bea, he accepted, and they walked in silence to her apartment. It was only after they'd looked at the pictures and sat down for coffees that Jensen told her he wouldn't be staying, he wouldn't be going back to med school just yet. He wanted to go back to Africa, and he'd really only flown over to catch up with his friends and set some of his affairs in order, the really urgent ones, anyway.

Tru felt deflated, like someone had punched her or stuck a pin in her, and slightly sick, too, but she smiled through it and asked him how he'd found it over in Africa. They talked for an hour and maybe ten minutes, Jensen talking mostly, but Tru asking the occasional question, before Jensen sighed and told her he'd probably better be going. They hugged once more, after that, and Tru showed him to the door. He said it was okay, he'd get a taxi, and she closed the door, tears burning the backs of her eyes.

She was happy for Jensen, happy that he'd found something he felt was worthwhile, happy he had been able to help out, help people, but she'd missed him, and she'd wanted him to stay. She'd really wanted him to stay, wanted them to pick up where they left off. But now it looked like that wasn't going to happen. Even if she waited the rest of the year.

Her heart hurt. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't. Instead, she sat down on the couch and flipped through the album on the coffee table, all pictures of Meredith and Bea. Some of them, Harry and her were even in. She looked at those pictures for a long time, then she closed the album and stood up, taking it back to the place she usually kept it, and decided she'd drop by the morgue and see how Davis was going.

Carrie had been sort of quiet lately, and maybe she could get the other woman talking, if she was around. Maybe she could get her to open up a bit to her. Hopefully.

.

She couldn't find Davis and Carrie, but she found someone else lurking around outside in the alley. She'd gone outside to see if Davis was there, no luck, and now she was pissed at Jack for being there instead. She picked up an empty, kinda mucky soda can from off the ground and threw it in his direction. She had the urge to shout, "Scram!", but refrained. Icky lame. Jack would just laugh at her. He liked doing that.

She didn't like him doing it. It pissed her off even more and made her glare at him, which gave her a headache. Which hurt. And messed up her mood, not to mention her concentration, along with her capacity to do her job to the best of her ability. When she had a headache, stuff had the tendency to slip her mind. Ugh!

The can fell short and hit the ground with a loud clatter, and Jack turned around, annoyingly sporting a look like he had no idea where he was and that was so strange. "Tru," he said, at last.

She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. "No, I'm the Cookie Monster, Jack! Get an eye exam!" She crossed her arms over her chest, and snapped in hostile, brittle tones, "What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm great! And you?"

She rolled her eyes. Classic, avoid the question or pretend you didn't hear it in the first place, then make out like you're best friends. "I asked first!"

"What did you ask?"

"What do you want?" she growled, fed up.

"To catch up with an old friend, see how she's doing nowadays, you know. That's all."

"There is no 'all' with you, Jack!" she snapped scathingly. "You're always scheming, plotting your next move. Don't play games! I'm not in the mood."

He stepped back, further into the alley. "So, ah, not so great, I gather. That's a pity, Tru. Really, it is. But, um," he waved a hand about, "I've gotta go now. We'll catch up some other time. Maybe. Look after yourself."

Tru scowled, glaring after him for a moment before it occurred to her that he'd been acting strangely, watching how close he got to her. He'd been doing that a lot lately, in fact. He didn't get up in her face about stuff anymore, and he hardly ever smiled at her. She was suddenly suspicious.

"Jack!"

He stopped, at the entrance to the alley, but didn't turn around. "Sorry, Tru, like I said, I gotta run."

She shook her head, stepping away from the door and moving out into the alley. "Are you avoiding me?"

"Don't know what you're talking about, Tru," he denied, moving slowly towards the corner.

Trying to escape.

She broke into a run and he fled, disappearing around the corner. When she got to the corner, she flew around it and up the path, taking chase. He was avoiding her and she knew it! He knew she knew it! She just didn't know why.

She caught up to him at a traffic crossing and he held up his hands, turning to her quickly. "Look! Look. Don't come any closer, okay. I... I'm trying to do the right thing here, Tru. Don't mess me up. We... we're not good for each other, we both know that. Whenever we get too... too close or too chatty or too _anything_, we... we don't think like we should. I don't want that... happening today. Okay! I know you know what I'm talking about. I'm not hiding anything from you, I just... I just don't want..."

She brushed some hair that had fallen in her face away, watching the way he was breathing, like running away from her had been a big effort and now she was scaring him, acting all unreasonable. His eyes held an edge of pleading. Just an edge. She stopped, didn't come any closer. "If it's Fate that we..."

"No! No. Don't you start talking like that, Tru. Don't _you_!"

"Maybe we're not meant to fight it."

"No!" He held out an arm shakily, in case she tried to lunge at him or something.

She laid a hand on her collarbone, thinking about how to say what she wanted to say, what she _needed_ to say. Brushing a bit of hair out of her mouth that the wind had blown there, she said, "What if we never get together, if we never have a child together, what happens to that spirit who would have... who would have been our baby? What happens to it, Jack?"

"That's in the past. Nothing we do now can change that. That... that destiny, it's done, over. Not real anymore. No-nothing happens. Nothing. That spirit just... chooses someone else, other parents."

"Chooses?"

"Makes a pact with, whatever. I don't know. This isn't..." He looked away from her, looked, instead, at the stone wall of some nearby building.

Tru was glad, actually. The desperate look in his eye had been starting to freak her out, like she was the bad guy, all of a sudden. And she'd felt like it too, a bit. Now, it felt a bit better, just a little bit.

The wind blew her hair back in her face and she took half a step forward, but Jack took half of one back, and she didn't like how close he was getting to the road, so she backed off, brushing at her hair again to clear it from her line of sight.

"Stuff it! You know what, bugger it! I'm just gonna put it out there, and what you think of it, you think of it. Who cares? No high hopes. Okay." She nodded, swatting away her hair again. "Okay. Jack...! I... I can't stand what you do, but then, you probably can't stand what I do, either. And... I've been thinking about you lately. I keep trying to convince myself that I really hate you, that I couldn't care less if you're miserable and all alone and... if you died tomorrow, I'd wear something bright to the funeral and... and laugh! But it's not true. That's just me, lying to myself." She couldn't believe she was saying this out loud, let alone to Jack, but she had to get it out there. She knew that now. He had to know. "I have these... feelings for you. I miss the sound of your stupid voice, when you're not around. Or the way you smile. Or the way you look at me, with those ridiculous eyes, pretending to be sooo cool about it all, when really, truthfully, stuff hurts you just like it hurts me. I _like_ hanging out with you. I like you touching me. Just... everything but your horrible, ugly job!

"For months now, I've been telling myself, 'When Jensen gets back from Africa, everything will be better again. Everything will be okay.' But it won't be! And it's not even that Jensen's going away again, that he's leaving me. It's _me_! I don't want Jensen, I've just been a blind idiot, and I've been in denial. Seriously in denial. Jensen's a nice guy, but there are a billion more out there. I want... you." She winced. God, that sounded crazy! She sounded crazy! "I don't know why, but it's the truth, I swear. I just... want you."

Jack shook his head, still staring at the wall.

"No, will you at least look at me, Jack! Look at me when you turn me down." She couldn't get a read on his feelings when she couldn't see his eyes, and he didn't want her coming any closer, was afraid of what would happen then. She'd want him, they'd get together, then she wouldn't want him, and she'd mess it all up on the rewind. She could see all of that, could understand where he was coming from, but she just wanted him to look at her and tell her the truth, and say something, just something. She missed the sound of his voice, and now she wanted to cry because he wasn't talking, because he was silent and acting all cold towards her, which he'd never done, it had always been her, she'd always been the cold one.

"Jack!"

He turned his head stiffly, but looked at her feet instead of her face.

She almost laughed, almost sent the tears she was barely holding in check gushing down her face, could easily have asked, "What do you think? They were on sale? Do they suit me, or what?" She didn't. She didn't push him. She was waiting for him to say something, to look her in the eye.

"It's not enough."

"I don't care," she said at once. And she didn't. Not just now, not in that moment. "Then we'll make something up – we'll-"

"No, not again. Not again, Tru. This isn't a game!" Finally, he looked up and met her eyes, his own eyes hard, hostile.

She didn't care. "It'll be different this time!"

"Oh, rubbish! Where do you get this from, Tru? These lies? In honesty! Out of a book, or some stupid _internet_ site! I've had it. I'm sick of it! I don't want to hear it."

The dark, heavy clouds overhead had finally had enough, and poured down rain in buckets. Neither of them moved, or tried to get out of the rain, away from the cold and wet. They just stood on the footpath staring at each other, their roles reversed, Jack the one with the angry glare, Tru completely open to suggestion, just waiting, hoping...

She stood perfectly still, her usually bouncy hair matted to her head by the heavy rain. "They're not lies. I don't want the lies any more than you do, not anymore." In the distance, she could hear someone calling her name, shouting above the din of the torrential rain pounding the footpath, the road, the surrounding buildings, slamming into any metal it could find with a sound like bullets raining down. She stepped back, drifting away, closer to the voice.

"TRU!"

It was Davis, she decided. Davis was calling her name. She didn't take her eyes from Jack's. She said, "Come back. When you've thought about what I've just told you, come back. Tell me your thoughts. I'll be waiting." Then she turned and disappeared amongst the streaming, pouring, pounding water.

.

"Tru!" Davis was pale and staring at her, evidently just as wet as she was. "What are you doing out here? It's coming down something awful!"

"Mmm. I had to go back and pay the parking meter. Sorry. Now you're all wet."

"And you," he said.

They ran back to the safety of the morgue, dripping water onto the floor wherever they walked. Carrie shot them both funny looks, clutching a hot drink by the vending machine that made coffee. "Can I get either of you something?"

Tru laughed. "Coffee would be wonderful thanks, Carrie!"

Davis merely nodded mutely, too cold to formulate words.

Carrie turned and left her drink on top of the machine to cool, then fed some more coins into it, pressing a button and sighing, waiting for it to do its thing. When it was done, she handed Tru her coffee. "Careful, it's hot."

"Thanks," Tru told her, smiling at her and wrapping her cold, wet fingers around the warm paper cup gratefully. She liked this machine, it didn't make everything scolding hot, not since someone had burnt themselves on their drink and a maintenance guy or someone had come along and adjusted the workings. It worked fine now. The problem was her hands, they were shaking all over the place, stiff with cold, and she was in danger of spilling her drink all over the floor before she could get two sips in.

Whilst she was waiting for the machine to do its thing one more time, Carrie crossed her arms and walked up to Davis. She only uncrossed them when she was standing in front of him, and leant forward to hug him.

Davis lurched back, out of her reach. "No, Carrie, I'm wet. Sopping wet!"

For a moment, she looked hurt, but then the machine beeped and she had to go attend it.

Tru sipped her own coffee, shivering quietly and pouring more water onto the floor. She hoped Jack would think about what she'd said.


	10. Chapter 10

The thought had occurred to her, too; that little niggling in the darkest corners of her mind, pinning her with its dark, distrustful gaze, pressing for the answers – all the answers, all so soon – mercilessly. Yes, her mind had spun that web, walked that muddy, murky path, just as well as his. Yet, she'd still seen the truth, glimpsed it strong and true, through the weeping willows, down by that rippling river, where the sky reflected perfectly off the surface, allowing no glimpse beneath the waters, oh blue, just blue, boundless sky. She'd been there, also, and she had found strength, no more lies. She had not tumbled, stumbled and drowned. This was not a devilish invention by the Powers That Be, this was truth, her true feelings burning bright. No matter how senseless and silly it seemed, it was how it was. And she had come to accept that.

Sitting on her couch in her apartment, the windows filled with dark and night, Tru waited. Jack would, of course, wonder, wonder if it wasn't just another game for her, or the Universe. He'd counter her argument, render it useless by deciding that what he felt, well, he'd fabricated all of that, made it all up for the express purpose of his job, his Calling. Yes, there was a strong chance he'd merely discount her words, her feelings. Still, Tru hoped he didn't, hoped he was a better person than to dash all of her hopes, her dreams, like that. Long ago, he must have had hopes and dreams also, must have wanted more than merely this Calling demanded of him. She was counting on him remembering.

If he turned her down, what would she say? What could she say? How could she explain that it wasn't about sex or lust or good looks or power plays, it was about something else, something more? If she appealed to him, "You believe in such incredible things; things of little proof. Please, just give me a chance, believe in me, too – believe in us!" would he laugh and turn his back?

_I won't play your games._ That was a favourite phrase of his, yet he expected her to play his game, the Universe's games – 'workings' – as he was so fond of pointing out. He would at least hear her out, surely. It wasn't as though she'd professed her love for him, for goodness sakes! All she'd told him was that she wanted him around, wanted to spend some time with him, get to know him. But then, he'd turn his nose up at that, for sure; he'd hate any attempt she made to get to know him. Most of the time, he was denying the truth to himself. How was he going to handle her when she started asking questions? He'd hate it, feel like running away. And she'd have to take chase, couldn't let him go. It was bound to crash and burn; them, friends, maybe more, in time. Doomed, destined, to go down in flames.

Still, she couldn't give up on it yet. Now that she'd admitted it to herself, the truth, she had to give it a chance to live, to grow. She couldn't push it back into its box with a dirty look on her face. _I won't give up on you, Jack_, she promised. _I do feel something for you, I know that. What, I don't know, but I know it's telling me I can't just turn my back on you. Our paths in this life are linked, are destined to cross, time and again. I know I can reach you, if you just let me. Even if I can't change your mind, maybe I can be your friend. You don't have to be alone in this world. You don't have to be cold, always surrounded by dark and cold. Maybe I won't succeed, but I've got to try._

Sighing, she stood up and walked to the kitchen, picking up the telephone and punching in Meredith's number. She missed her sister's voice, really wanted to chat, it didn't even matter about what. She only wanted Mere to know she wasn't alone, she didn't have to go it alone, and that was okay, that was perfectly fine. Everybody needed support, needed love.

The phone picked up on the fifth ring. Tru smiled, hearing Meredith's questioning, harried tone coming over the line. "Hey, Meredith! It's Tru. How are you?"

Meredith let her breath out in a little laugh. "Ugh, you know! Never a dull moment. But I'm good. You?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Bea's waving." A smile crept into her voice and she said, her voice somewhat muffled, "Aunt Tru says she misses you, baby girl. Would you like to come over here and talk to her, cheer her up again? No!" She laughed. "You're watching cartoons. Whoo! Sorry, sis, she's watching TV."

Tru smiled. "That's okay, I'll catch up with you guys the next time I'm 'round."

"Please do! And how's work?"

"The same as ever: hectic. But rewarding!"

"The best kind there is, I say."

"Yeah!"

"And how are things at med school?"

"Great."

"Yeah?"

"Ah, yeah."

"You don't sound so sure. You need, ah, a little company, a second eye to go over an assignment? 'Cause, I could drop 'round. Never turn down the chance to get the kiddo out of the house."

"Yeah, I'm getting there, Meredith. But we should... have a family day out one day. Just you, Bea, me and Harrison."

"Sounds nice," Meredith admitted.

"I'll talk to Harry, get his schedule, then I'll call you back. We can go to the park, have a picnic or a barbecue."

"Okay."

"Mere... are you okay? How are you coping?"

Meredith laughed suddenly. "Yeah, I'm great, Tru! Having Bea around has really... brought a new dimension to my life that I didn't think I'd ever... get the chance to experience. I love her to bits! She's a great kid. It just gets... _hectic_, at times," she shared, borrowing Tru's earlier descriptor. "I can tell you now, I wouldn't say 'no' to a bit of company, an extra set of hands to help out, you know." She laughed again. "I guess, being with Bea's made me rethink my life. I don't want to be alone forever."

"Nobody wants to be alone, in reality, I don't think," Tru replied.

"You're okay, aren't you? You're not..."

"Yeah. Jensen really doesn't feel ready to stick around just yet. He's decided to... to go back to Africa, to help people."

"Oh, Tru, I'm sorry!"

"No, I understand. He's not ready for that kind of relationship right now. No sense in pushing it, is there?"

"No."

"I wish him all the best in life, I honestly do, but I think it's time I moved on," Tru told her.

"Oh my God!" Meredith cried. "All the best, sweetie, that's all I can say! Go on and get yourself someone who makes you happy! You deserve it! We all do."

_I know_, Tru whispered silently. "You should bring Bea over occasionally. I can 'sit for you when you need a night off, or a night out on the town. I'd be glad to watch her, and you're right: everyone deserves to find their own kind of happiness in this world, that other person who completes you and makes it all worthwhile."

"Aw!" Meredith sighed. "Thanks, Tru. I'll let you know..." She sighed, some of the joy leeching from her voice to be replaced by worry. "Tru, do you think Dad's gonna do the right thing by Harrison? I don't mean to... attack the guy, but I can't forget how he... I can't forget the past, you know. I'd hate to see Harry get hurt again."

"I feel the same way, Mere."

"I know."

Tru frowned. "I honestly can't say. Dad's got another family now, other commitments, other hearts to fall back on if he slips up and breaks ours. It's different now, and I don't... I don't know what to make of his attempts. I can only go day by day where Dad is concerned. But I promise you this, Mere, Harrison's not alone, he'll never be alone as long as he has us. We're a family, no matter what, and no one can take that away from us."

"Thank you, Tru."

"What for?"

"For reminding me," Meredith whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. "I'm sorry, I just... I've been hurting all these years, believing I'd do better alone, I'd get through it then we'd just... come back together again, that picture-perfect family again, just as soon as I got through this mess I was in. But it doesn't work like that, I know that now. You've gotta work with what you've got. And I've still got you and Harry, I've got Bea now. I mayn't have Mom and Dad, my life mayn't be perfect, but it's mine, and I'm loved. I've got a lot to love about my life, and I've got Bea, I've got my brother and sister."

"Yep," Tru replied, brushing at her eye with the heel of her palm, suddenly tearful. "No matter what, Mere, you'll always have us."

"Gah! I've gotta go now, Tru. Dinnertime. Have a nice night, little sis."

"You too."

"Bye."

"Goodbye, Meredith. I'll get back to you soon." She heard the dial tone and put the phone down, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Meredith had really changed. Tru couldn't be more happy for her. So her life wasn't perfect, but she made do; she could still smile, shed a tear out of happiness. It made Tru wonder if she'd ever feel that way, if she'd ever feel that kind of happiness at just being alive.

She had her family, she had friends, old and true friends, new friends, too, she had her studies, her job, her Calling. She had all of that. But happiness? She had her moments, and they were great, but they were brief, fleeting, and they left her feeling so, so cold when were gone, when her life once more descended down that familiar, old path, dark and uncertain and meandering. She just wished she had a hand to hold, on her journey. A hand to hold, that was all. A warm heart that beat and felt, just the same as hers.

She tipped her face to the ceiling, sighing heavily. There was just no escaping it, was there? Here she was again, her thoughts had run 'round and 'round in circles, and they'd just done it again. They always came back to him these days. If she imagined herself happy, it was with him. If she heard some couple arguing, her mind was already there, imagining the angry words they'd fling at each other, the way they'd get really worked up, their voices heated, eyes full of fire. If she smiled, she remembered the way he smiled at her, how she'd scowl back, never one to give in.

God, it was almost insufferable the way her thoughts always came back to Jack. But she didn't mind. She knew it was a sign.

They would never just be enemies. It could never just be cut and dried, black and white, with them.

Never.


	11. Chapter 11

Here was the problem – and it _was_ a problem! – he'd listened to Tru go on about her feelings, about how they could have something, if they wanted, if _he_ wanted, because she was down with it now – yeah, _now_ she was! – and, all the while, he'd been thinking, _Uh-ah._

He liked Tru, he did, but this was about more than just them, now; it was about the entire universe, and he just couldn't shake the feeling that maybe Tru couldn't grasp the gravity of that, the level of manipulation that came along with their Callings. Hell, he'd been living a lie for longer than he'd like to admit, believing that his feelings were his own with no "help" from the universe or anyone else... but now he didn't know.

One thing he knew for sure was that he liked Tru, he could have got to know her better, happily, but that would be wrong. If, indeed, they had this connection, this bond, then he'd be willing to wager it was because they'd known each other before, in another life; maybe even, they'd been together, in that other life, a couple. They did have a connection. He felt it every time their eyes met, every time he just _heard_ her voice – she didn't even have to be talking to him, or even know he was around. He'd known they'd had a connection since he was twenty-two!

And now, the Powers That Be – or whoever – were trying to get them together again! Were manipulating them by drawing on the bond they shared! But they wouldn't succeed, he decided now. Not in this lifetime! They had had their time, in that other life; in this life, things were different. Their Callings, everything. He wouldn't betray the woman Tru had once been, the person she'd been to him in that other life, merely for the sake of the Universe, for one of Fate's little games. He was a human being and so was Tru – not somebody's toy, not even the Universe's!

Yes, he cared about her. That much was undeniable, irrefutable. But caring wasn't enough. Not for him. If the Universe had wanted to do it right, they wouldn't have picked him to be Tru's opposite in this battle between Life and Death. Because as long as he had this Calling, as long as Tru and he were at loggerheads, they would stay apart. In this life, their paths were not meant to lead them into a relationship like that, not this time. There would be others, others for Tru, and maybe for him, too. In this life, things were different – too different.

He could make a joke out of it. He could tell himself that "variety is the spice of life" and that "familiarity breeds contempt" – both two very good reasons they shouldn't be together – but the real reason was that he wouldn't go down that path with Tru because they were at odds, and as long as they were at odds with each other, something would always be standing in between them, and he couldn't live with that. He couldn't. If he couldn't be behind her all the way, then he couldn't still be with her. It was wrong.

Tru, in her own way, understood that too. She had made her choice on that rewind day, she had chosen not to let their lives be complicated by a pregnancy neither of them had asked for, and even though it had hurt her and it had hurt him, too, it had been for the best, and he was thankful to her for that, for having the sense not to go there, not to mess everything up for them both like that. Extremely sad, but thankful.

Now he had a second chance and he was running with it. And if that be with tears in his eyes and anguish in his heart, then so be it. He wasn't some puppet and neither was Tru! He wouldn't condone that kind of "intervention", even if it was the Universe's way of sending them both a message.

It was too much, too late, in _all_ the wrong ways!

It would just never happen.

For now, he was unhappily getting drunk on bad cocktails in his apartment, alone. The best way to get drunk and stay miserable, in his opinion: alone. That way, there was nobody to interfere with your business, nobody to tell you the world wasn't so bad, and every cloud had a silver lining, and nobody to take your glass away when they thought you'd had enough and would soon be throwing up and making a right, royal disaster of the entire evening. Nobody but yourself, and he could live with that.

.

It would be rough going. Jack had never imagined it otherwise. He knew there was this thing between them, and it was never, ever going away, but he always just hoped he'd be strong enough to do the right thing. The right thing by himself, and by Tru. And, right now, the right thing was staying away. He got that, the only problem was, he couldn't honestly control what happened in his dreams. At least, not these dreams.

So there was Tru, sitting on some bed in some motel room, her back turned to him, probably feeling pretty crappy, he'd have said, based on the fact that she wasn't even trying to keep good posture, but he couldn't say for sure as she wasn't turning around to look at him and it was daytime out, anyway, so he couldn't get a read of the look on her face by looking at the windows – all he saw there was some grubby, largely unidentifiable street. A whole load of it.

So, to circumnavigate all of that, he decided to do the right thing, and be proactive. He walked around the bed and over there and tried to figure out how to sort things out between them. He disliked seeing her miserable, even if for a good reason, and today was no different. He wanted to make it, if not better, then tolerable for her at least.

And he could, because she would always let him, because he was her man and she was his woman. And he was glad. Glad because he had this wonderful, precious thing who loved him. Out of all the other guys she could have had her pick of, she'd chosen him. She loved him. He was a lucky guy.

The truth of it was, he even loved her back. How lucky was that?

Only, it didn't always feel like that. For either of them. But today, today, he told himself, was not one of those days. Today was a good day. A great day! And if it was the last great day they had, the last good day between them, then he wasn't wasting it for anything!

He sat down on the bed beside her, trying to catch her eye, but she wouldn't have a bar of it. She wasn't looking at him, just her lap.

"Hey!" he said, smiling at her.

"Go to Hell!" she quipped back.

"Listen here, you!" he told her. "With you there, just glaring at nothin' like that, and me here, wond'rin' what I said wrong, did wrong, what went wrong between us, don't you think I feel like I'm already there? Because that's _exactly_ how I feel!"

He touched her shoulder gently and she flinched, but she didn't get up and storm out. "C'mon, baby, let me in. What's happening in your world, hon? I want to help, so let me. Who cares if I end up banging my head against a brick wall for all my efforts? It's only _my_ head, right?" He laughed a little, hoping it might cheer her up some, but it didn't even work on _him_, so there was little chance of that, he thought.

"I care!" she whispered darkly, to the floor. "Then I'd have to see the blood and gore and listen to you going on about the pain, and I can't frankly be..." She let the sentence drop, too tired to go on.

"What's wrong, honey?" he pressed, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. Just a little one. "Just tell me. Maybe I can help."

She didn't react.

"Help how?" she laughed derisively, at long last, as though the very idea was ludicrous: _he_ was ludicrous, ridiculous!

He picked his hand up off her shoulder, thinking. If all she was gonna say was the same old, same old, then he hadn't an in edgewise, and he'd be best on out that door, he decided. They'd only make things worse, him tryin' to patch them up, when she liked 'em as they were, in the rough. Heck, even he could tell she was miserable, but she hadn't the up an' go to do anything to fix it! And neither did he, when it came down to it. Not if it meant whirrin' things up an' making it worse for them both – for her, mostly.

He hated hurting her a thousand times more than simply seeing her hurt.

"HOW?" she growled, raising her voice suddenly and whipping 'round to face him, her brown eyes boring holes into him. "How are you going to help, Jack?"

She was glaring at him, but at least she was lookin'. "We can sort things out, surely. Give us a bit of time and we always pull through, don't we, babe. We always pull through?"

"In whose fantasies, Jack?" she scowled, her dark eyes flashing, a mixture of anger and pain swirling in the shine of her eyes.

He tilted his head a bit. "Well..."

"You already made up your mind, bun! You don't want me. I'm nothing but trouble! Tell me those aren't your thoughts! Tell me you're not thinking them right now, as you sit there looking at me, all innocent-like. 'Oh, I'm so hard-done-by, babe, if you could jus' see that and show me a little mercy, a little forgiveness!'" She laughed, high and hysterical, her eyes flashing again. "For what, Jack? Why? Why should I, when you'd rather be elsewhere, looking at some other girl, sweet-talkin' her, instead of me. We're not even friends, Jack!"

"How can you say that, Tru?" He reached over quickly, into her lap, and picked up her hand, staring down at the ring she was wearing.

She tugged her hand away hurriedly. "I've seen the way things are going here, between us, Jack, and I've decided it's high time one of us acted the grown-up. So I'm standing up, putting my foot down, and I'm walking out that door!" With that, she got to her feet.

He jumped up and moved around her quickly, standing in her way. "Don't!"

"Why?" She didn't bother sounding as though she cared. She was angry and alone, and just bored now. Bored of this game they'd been playing for far too long.

"Because... I care for you, that's why. I wouldn't know what to do without you; I'd die. Or I wouldn't, but that'd be worse. I just need you, is all, babe. Can't you see that? Look into my eyes and tell me you can't see that? You can't see how hopeless and lonely I'd be without you? Just do that for me, honey?"

She laughed grandly, rolling her eyes. "'Look into my eyes,' he says! 'Abracadabra!' he says. 'That ought to have worked. Now, I do rightly wonder why it did _not_? Somethin' in the water, maybe?'" She let out a peel of high, amused laughter.

Unperturbed, he placed a hand over his heart. "I love you, Tru! As much as I know how... I love you. Only you. I swear it!"

"Don't you mean: 'I love lying to myself and everyone else around me, especially you, Tru, baby! To see your expression right now – God, that's priceless!' Isn't that what you mean, Jack?"

"No!"

"'No', but 'yes'. Really, 'yes'," she echoed. "Just... let me past, Jack, I'm leaving. I've had it with these games. We're not children and we shouldn't act like it, either. Grow up." She stepped past him, easily dodging the hand he put out to catch her arm, and hurried to the door.

He let her get as far as the door, then spun around and caught her up in a matter of a few strides, holding the key up for her to see. Shouldn't have let him pay for the room, should she have, on second thoughts.

She huffed, spinning away from the door and pressing herself back into it. Tentatively, she reached out a hand, playing at more confidence than she felt, at that moment. "Give me the key, Jack!" she sighed heavily, at this new inconvenience he'd thrown up to hinder her.

"On our honeymoon, bun? Give _you_ the key? I don't think so!" He laughed and returned the key to his pocket. "Guess what, Cinderella, I am done with playing Prince Charming! Now we get messy!"

Moving in for the kill, he grabbed a handful of her hair and tilted her head back, pulling her tight against him with his other hand, now snaked around her waist, and bent down to kiss her-

And woke up suddenly with a splitting headache and someone yelling at him, "Run, you idiot! There, get that and hit him with it! You're not a helpless thing, for goodness sa-" Right, it was him yelling. He shut up. It didn't really help his headache any. At all.

He lurched off the bed and managed to make it to the bathroom in time and threw up, his head now feeling as though he _had_ bashed it against a brick wall... or a few.

He laughed dryly, even though it hurt, and hissed, "Over my dead body!"


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: I'll probably be going back and fixing up that chapter with Richard's family now that I know their names: Jordan, Claire and Oliver. When I get some time, anyway. At the moment, updates might be a lot slower. I'm going to be looking for work (as usual) and writing letters of introduction, as well as studying for my L's and planning what I'm going to be doing in the new year.

Anyway, sorry for the long Author's Note, and a big Thankyou to **cherrygurl1225** for all the positive reviews. Thanks, girl, they really help! (I don't mean to be condescending.)

Additional Disclaimer: I don't own the song "Naked" by Avril Lavigne. I don't own the lyrics, or anything. It's all Avril, Curt and Sabelle's!

* * *

><p>"Sweetheart, you look real beat."<p>

Tru frowned, staring down at her telephone suddenly, worriedly.

"Sweetheart, I can see you through the damn window," her father elaborated, and she looked up, spying him standing outside on the pavement.

"Dad!" she moaned. "I'm not gonna bite, you know! Get in here and have a seat – before you get heatstroke!"

Richard laughed and nodded, snapping his cell phone closed and heading for the diner door. A few moments later, he was seated across the table from her, telling her all about how Jordan had organised a little holiday retreat for her in the country, after hearing how down she was.

"Heard from who, Dad?" Tru asked, irritated but not wanting to snap her father's head off over it, either. "Oh, Dad! I have to work; it's the only way I can make enough money to keep paying my bills – and I've got study!"

"You're on break, aren't you?" Richard pressed.

Tru moaned again. "Harry?"

"No, actually, your brother didn't breathe a word. I looked it up online."

Tru made a face. "Dad, that's actually sorta... weird, but aside from that, I don't have time for /holidaying in the sun/!"

"No, of course you do," her father replied. "And how is it weird a father taking an interest in his daughter's well-being?"

She dropped her shoulders awkwardly, looking at the serviette holder for a moment, as though thinking it might be able to help her out of this predicament. "Look, Dad, I didn't mean to offend you, I just meant... well, you could have just rung me and asked, that's all."

"And spoil the surprise, sweetie? No! No!"

She sighed, brushing at her cheek with a hand. She really wanted to rub her eye, but in front of her dad: no way! He'd just take it as further confirmation of an imminent burnout. He'd start fussing to the nth degree, freaking her out with all of the sudden attention, and then he'd make her feel bad when she told him he had to frickin' back off, okay! He wouldn't get that she found his antics really on and off, or hot and cold; that, after all but abandoning his first wife's children, he thought it was fine and dandy to just flounce merrily back into their lives as though nothing had happened, okey dokey, and they should just take it, just like that, as though, really, nothing had happened! No breaking of trust, no abandonment, no cold-shoulder, no apologies needed, no adjustment period, no _Can I really trust him the second time around?_ asked.

She didn't know how to say this stuff to her dad. Heck, he'd shot the guy who'd murdered their mother, then he'd made sure the body disappeared, leaving no evidence pointing to him as the guy's killer. Yeah, the guy had been trying for a repeat performance with Jordan and her, but Tru still didn't know what to think of her dad: if he was the good guy or the bad, or something in between. And that worried her. Him, keeping tabs on her, worried her. Organising this little getaway with Jordan behind her back – only made her worry, worry, worry more. She couldn't help it. It had become like second nature where her dad was concerned.

_He thinks he's still Daddy to me, but he's living in the past._ Some days, she had to think that was the story of her life. Her dad, living in the past, believing himself Father of the Year, or something. Not to put the guy down, but ick! Just _ick_! And she was helpless, not knowing how to handle it all, so she didn't. She played the Everything's Fine game, just the same as him. Except – it killed her! Inside, it ate her up with guilt and feelings of weakness, helplessness and inadequacy. If she'd been a real daughter, surely she'd have made her feelings clear. Let him know if it was salvageable or not. But she just went on playing the Denial game.

And now, this holiday thing.

She seriously didn't know what to do!

In the end, she said "Okay, you convinced me!", but please let it only be for a week. She had a birthday she couldn't miss, was all – not to mention, a job!

She was rest assured that it was only for a week, sadly, and replied with a laugh, a smile and a nod. Thank goodness! No way was she missing Bea's birthday! Just – no way!

That wrapped up, Richard had a quick coffee and told her he had to run.

She barely got the "Please send Jordan my sincerest thanks, Dad!" out before he'd hit the door and disappeared out onto the street, swallowed by the city once more.

She let her shoulders slump again, then, and frowned sadly down at the holiday package thing in her hands. Ugh! Just wonderful! Just what she needed right now, like a sore thumb, she bet. Jack would be cackling his head off somewhere when he heard the news, loving it. Tru, who didn't let anyone boss her around, pressured into some lame holiday in the country practically wordlessly, and by her old man, no less. Classic!

_Aw, come on!_ she told herself. _Give the guy a little more credit than that. Maybe he won't crack up... all at once. He might wish you 'happy travels' and 'good luck' first, then laugh in your face! You just never know with Jack, after all._

.

Davis was happy for her – it annoyed her – Harrison was, _Ah, it'll do you some good, sis_, and Avery and Tyler were already off on break, enjoying themselves. She thought about e-mailing Avery, then decided not to. No sense in messing up her fun, too, was there? She let Mere know over the phone, then went home to her apartment, feeling slack-limbed and useless, like she didn't get around every other day saving people from Death and stuff.

She was in her Jack-is-the-enemy mode again since he'd never got back to her about their little conversation outside the morgue that day and started looking around her apartment for things to pack, picking up a whole heap of useless stuff then going back and putting it all back, her mind whirring this way and that, but somehow failing to recall what one usually packed when going on a holiday.

_Toothbrush_, she thought, and walked off to fetch her toothbrush from the bathroom. It was a start, right.

.

Carrie's posture spoke volumes after her nervousness at being here, in this cafe, on this street, out in the open, under the light of day, with him. A tooth worried a corner of her lip, further adding to the nervous hypothesis Jack had settled on.

She didn't look her usual composed self, somehow. Something about her had changed, shifted. She was more drawn, paler maybe, even. She wasn't the regular girl's-got-it-going, got-it-together-like-tight Carrie.

It worried him, a little, Jack had to admit. Carrie was the strong one. Always was, always had been. Always would be, he used to think. Before today, anyway. Now he knew differently. He almost asked her what was up, what was worrying her, but he let it fall, unspoken. He didn't know if he could trust Carrie that much, after all. Maybe all of this was nothing more than a show, a ploy to suck him in. Carrie was good at those types, he knew that well. He wouldn't be falling for one of her little games. Not him.

"What's shakin', Car?" he asked, going for a casual tone.

She seemed to break out of her reverie, noticing his sandwich for the first time, and resumed staring at it hungrily as though she hadn't eaten in a week plus. "It's Richie. I heard him talking. With some guy."

Her tone was vague, her speech strangely disjointed. She kept staring at his sandwich.

Jack frowned, looking her over twice. Was she looking thinner than usual? If she was, he wasn't seeing it. Nonetheless, he gave his plate a nudge her way.

"Some guy?" he asked, frowning some more.

"About Tru."

"Tru's a big girl, Car."

Carrie nodded, agreeing with him without even looking at him.

"You might as well have that," Jack told her, of the sandwich. "The guy got the order wrong." He tried to sound miffed. Maybe he pulled it off.

Carrie frowned, it seemed to take an effort, and reached for his sandwich with one hand, biting a fingernail on her other hand. She looked up to meet his eyes. "Richie's got her going off on this holiday."

"Good for her."

Carrie pulled a face, taking a small bite out of the corner of his sandwich, making him wish he hadn't offered it to her. He was suddenly very hungry. She took a bigger bite, nodding. "She does display workaholic tendencies," she agreed.

"Trust me, Carrie, with Tru, it goes _way_ beyond displays! She's a full-on, real-life workaholic! Hangups much? A holiday is _just_ what she needs!"

"I think he's planning on making it a permanent holiday," Carrie added, reaching for the second half of his sandwich, done with the first in a couple of quick bites.

"You think?" Jack asked, worried that she was going to give herself heartburn. "Carrie, Richard might've played this game long before you and I, but that decision doesn't rest with him. If it were to rest with any mere mortal, it would be me, not him. Not that it does, mind you. That decision, when it comes, will not come from either you or I. It'll be just one of those things that happens: Fate. Richard wouldn't make that mistake twice, Carrie. He knows better than that."

Carrie shook her head, her eyes watering slightly under the glare of the sun. "I don't think he's going to play ball here, Jack. He's got the bug back and he's determined to win – at any cost!"

"It's not _his __call_, Carrie!"

"_I_ know that, Jack! Listen to me, please! I'm trying to tell you that I think- I'm _certain_ he's compromised. I'm sorry. He's off-the-rails. You've got to step in. You've got to protect her. If she goes, you know what will happen. The Calling will chose another, and we'll be lucky to find it again under the time-frame we're handed. We can't lose her, Jack!"

Jack sighed. "Carrie, are you feeling alright?"

She rolled her eyes, flipping her sunglasses back over her eyes. "Yes, Jack, I'm feeling fine. Are you?" She stood up. "Do what you have to do, Jack. Do your job. The next time I hear from you, make it good news!" Her piece said, she turned on her heel and disappeared, leaving Jack to feel as though he'd been slapped.

.

Sitting on the train, her head leant against the glass, Tru looked tired, washed up. He even managed to take a seat beside her without her noticing, without her turning a glance on him, recognising him, pulling a suitably sour face.

"Tru," he spoke softly, simply uttering her name. She couldn't misconstrue his words if he said nothing to misconstrue.

As though she hadn't heard him, she closed her eyes.

Her hand rested on the seat beside her leg, gripping the seat edge lightly. He slipped a hand over hers, to gain her attention.

Her eyes snapped open, skittered sideways, meeting his. She pulled her hand out of his quickly, as though he'd hurt her somehow, flattening herself into a corner of her seat.

"Tru," he repeated.

"Are you following me?" she accused, wide-eyed.

He missed her usual glare, missed the heat in her gaze. She looked tired. As tired as he felt. It had helped, he thought, holding her hand, for just a second. It had helped. He'd felt better, for a handful of heartbeats, buoyed. Now he just felt tired again.

"Are you going somewhere?" he returned.

She sat up straighter, stiffly. Her eyes flashed; hard, not heated. "What if I am?"

"You asked me to get back to you, when I'd had time to think about things. You said I should get back to you. This is me, getting back to you. What, the offer's off now? Nix? You've taken it back?"

Some unidentifiable emotion flickered over her gaze fleetingly, then disappeared again.

He wished he'd known what it was, wished he could have just asked her.

"What do you think?" she ground out, finally.

He smiled, not a winning smile. "I guess that's fair. I had some time, I left it too long..."

Tru dropped her eyes from his, to her lap. "If you want more time," she whispered, "all you have to do is say so, Jack."

He didn't feel better, assured. He felt worse. He'd wanted it to be over between them, this unknown thing, but now, because of Carrie's suspicion about Richard, his hand was forced, once again. Forever, forced. Sometimes, he felt like nothing but a play toy, a chew toy, for the Universe's amusement, enjoyment. It wasn't fair.

Against his better judgement, he forced himself to get out, "It's a tempting proposition, Tru. It is tempting..."

"But?"

"But, I can't just be your after-Jensen thing. I can't just be someone who's there because the guy you'd rather have had isn't; because he turned you down."

She laughed, almost scoffed. Her eyes met his, anger clashing with feigned calm, brown against blue. "I told you, Jack-!"

"I heard you the first time, Tru," he interrupted. "I'm just not convinced you know yourself what you want."

She laughed in his face, darkly. "I wanted Luc!" she spat. "You took him away from me!"

"So it's like that, is it? One of those things? A vendetta, Tru?" He sighed.

Her hand shot out, clasping his arm too tightly, her painted fingernails sinking into flesh beneath the material of his shirt. Her eyes dug into his, her gaze physically painful. "What I feel for you isn't some angry vendetta, Jack! It's real! But, don't forget, you owe me!"

He laughed, fighting back a wince at the pain in his arm. "I owe you nothing, Tru! You saved Jensen when he didn't ask you to. _You_ owe the _Universe_!"

She gave a forced shrug, playing like she didn't care. "So I'm doing the Universe a fucking favour! Taking you on. You can't deny that you killed Megan! Even if she was Destined to die, it wasn't at your hands! It wasn't by your choice – it was her own choice! You took that choice out of her hands, Jack! You killed her! You're not safe to be left alone, to be turned loose on the streets. On the unsuspecting masses! So I repay the Universe this way. What will you do? How will you repay your debt?"

Feeling more shaky inside that he could ever remember feeling before, he stole himself, and said, "I'm with you." With those words, he frightened even himself, but Carrie had said 'get the job done', 'make sure the girl doesn't end up dead'.

Carrie was right. They couldn't afford it now. The choice was out of his hands.

No choice but to say 'yes'.

.

She released the death grip she'd had on his arm and seemed to relax, shifting to find a more comfortable position in her seat, and rested her head on his shoulder.

He didn't relax, but he hummed _Put a Little Love in Your Heart_, hoping to calm her some.

It seemed to work. She fell asleep sometime after.

He was glad for the reprieve, for the time to acclimatise himself to his situation, to the heavy developments of that afternoon. Things like the weight of her beside him, slumped against him in sleep, the smell of her hair, the sound of her calm breathing. All of the things a lover cherished, knew by heart as if they were their own.

He would have to know them too.

He really didn't want it, but he couldn't help the pinch of tears at the back of his eyes, couldn't help the way his throat felt clogged up, the way he suddenly felt the need to gasp, maybe open a window. Pity the windows didn't open. The only consolation he could find in it all was that Tru was sleeping, oblivious to his inner struggle, his inner turmoil.

"Sleep well, darling," he whispered, tears stinging his eyes.

.

Night was well under way by the time they left the train station and hailed a taxi to drive them the remainder of the way to the cottage. When he'd asked if she was hungry, Tru had replied that she'd really just prefer having something to eat at the cottage, when they got there. If they had to order in, did it really matter? She wasn't dressed for a night out on the town; she didn't have the energy for it, either.

Silently, Jack had to agree. He just wanted to go home, get drunk, throw up and cry. It was pathetic, but he wasn't really the type to go out trawling for chicks, as Tru had pegged him. He wasn't averse to female company, but he liked to think he meant more to someone than a one-night-stand.

His father had been one of those, for his mom, he knew. McCoy and he were half-siblings. Harper was McCoy's surname, not his. He'd taken it on when he'd been old enough to change his name, to go it alone in the world, always wishing his baby sister would come looking for him, would come running back home. Wishing and hoping, never with anything to show for it.

No, he didn't believe in all those tubes and machines, fan-dangled hospital stuffs. He didn't believe in someone else hanging on for you when you meant to let go, to let Fate have its day, to let Death take you on the next leg of your journey in this strange and crazy Universe. But he believed in feelings, in emotions. And he believed in Good, not just Bad. Death wasn't bad, it just was what it was. You didn't know if it was bad or not until you crossed that line, until you stepped off one path, onto another. Then, you had the chance to shape what came then, just as you had in life, by your actions, your decisions. Well, that was what he believed. The end of Life wasn't the end.

He remembered that he'd told Tru he'd believed that people could go to a better place after Death, and that was true, but what came next was what you made it, exactly the same as it was in Life. If you made it a bad experience, it wasn't better. If you chose unwisely (purposefully), it wasn't better.

He couldn't help but wonder, now, if he'd chosen this. If he'd chosen to be an emissary of Fate, of the Order of the Universe? Had Tru also chosen her Calling? Had she chosen this Fate because of him, because she'd known they would eventually meet again, their Destinies intertwined? Had she chosen to go through all of this pain if it meant being with him again?

He couldn't know, but it was enough to speculate; it hurt enough.

Or maybe it had been the other way around? Maybe she'd chosen her future Fate before he had, and he'd merely taken his pick of what was best, what would mean their paths would one day cross once more, throwing them together again. Who could say, really?

Lost in his thoughts, he missed the road to the cottage and had to turn around and go back, still thinking about their interlinked fates, still thinking about how they could possibly have known one another before, in another life. What had they been to each other, then? Had they been friend or foe, lover or enemy? He knew it was pointless to wonder, really, but he couldn't keep himself from wondering, nonetheless.

Would they, when they died and remembered all they'd been through, on the Other Side – always assuming that that was how it worked – judge it worth it, all of the pain, the loss, the toil? Would it all have been justifiable, to be together again?

Pulling up in front of the small, cold cottage, he shut off the engine and turned and reached for Tru's arm, shaking it lightly to wake her. "We're here," he told her, adopting a firm tone in favour of a softer one. Ideally, he wanted her to wake up, not to have to carry her out of the car.

.

Tru was fixing sandwiches in the kitchen – cheese on rye – when he stepped outside to check cell reception, deeming it workable, and punched in Carrie's number. He figured he'd best tell her the 'good news' she'd been hanging out for.

.

It wasn't super fun, but they'd popped by a video rental store and chose a DVD for a night in, dropped by the supermarket on the way back to Davis's place, for a couple of bags of microwave popcorn. Carrie had chosen the non-microwave type and popped them in a pot with some oil on the bottom, instead. Davis had stood around, hung back, watching her sweating over the stove, wondering if it would be okay for him to step in, about a million times. He didn't, and it was okay. She didn't burn the popcorn.

They sat down to watch the DVD flick they'd rented, Carrie wishing she hadn't added so much salt to the popcorn, wishing she had something to drink that wasn't soda. She stood up, disentangling herself from Davis's arms, a number of times, to refill the water jug, to take a loo break, to dig out a piece of fruit, cut up some banana and drizzle over some apricot jam, heated up in a small saucepan over the stove.

Davis didn't comment on her continual need to be up, on her feet, her continual eating, drinking, fidgeting, how she couldn't keep still in his arms, not even for the two and a half hours the movie ran. She was eternally thankful. She could have cried.

Lying in bed, after the movie, she couldn't help feeling a gnawing sense of panic, of paranoia. She'd overdone it with the snacks, she supposed, her mind endlessly looping the sequence of mundane, everyday events that had led to the soul-shattering discovery of her husband dead in the bathtub. She'd tried to help him, to save him, honestly. The panic, the reality of her loss, had threatened to blind her, to render her unconscious, but she'd fought on, praying that her efforts ended for the good. And then the final revelation had played its card, the instant her skin had touched her husband's, and he'd asked her – please, please, please – not to help, not to try to bring him back, and she'd felt it, felt how content he was, now, drifting farther from this life, from her, and she'd sunk to the bathroom floor and broken down, tears overflowing.

She'd thought, for one wild moment, of shouting back at him, at his no longer living body, "Fuck you! Fuck you, too!" Had he thought of her, when he'd decided to end it all? Had he thought of anyone but himself? But she sensed he had good reason, she sensed the tide in her, turning. She'd known how it would end. Known she couldn't refuse him this. So she'd let him go, let him slip away, crying her heart out on the bathroom floor, counting the passing time in heartbeats they would never share, heartbeats between them.

Then she had picked herself up off the floor, picked up the bottle of pills, and gone for the phone, knowing she could never let anyone know her husband had killed himself, knowing she couldn't bear to shame him like that, his memory.

It was only later, during those first lonely, desolate nights, that it had all hit her. He'd been sexually abused as a child, he just hadn't been able to go on anymore. He'd suffered long enough. He'd never really found a way to live, after the abuse. It was then that she had realised how alone she truly was, how she could never tell his sister the truth, could never tell anyone. She would have to take their accusations, their hate, and live through it, the way the man she'd loved hadn't been able to live through what had happened to him.

She would be stronger.

Now, as she lay sleepless in Davis's warm, comforting arms, she was afraid he was beginning to push her away, to block her out; afraid that history might somehow repeat itself, leaving her with little more than the invisible scars where there should have been love, love to keep her warm at night.

She didn't want to lose Davis. She didn't want to be alone. If her world came crashing down again, she wouldn't be able to live with it twice. She'd have to bow out; she'd have to leave Jack behind. He'd be devastated, she knew. He'd feel abandoned, he'd probably hate her. She knew how much he needed her, needed a friend. She'd hate to have to do that to him.

Closing her eyes against the tears welling in them, the mental berating she was treating herself to over her sudden, inexplicable paranoia, she started to drift away, out of Davis's arm, out of his apartment, out of her body.

She was jolted abruptly awake by the sound of her cell phone, buzzing loudly on the night stand. Reaching for it blindly in the dark, her head kind of groggy, she swallowed a heavy sigh and murmured, "Carrie Allen."

It was Jack. He sounded bitter, washed up. "She's safe. For the moment," he said.

"You sound like shit," she whispered, hoping the interruption wouldn't wake Davis from his seemingly peaceful slumber. "Get some sleep, if you think you can manage that."

Jack didn't bother to reply to that. "'Night, Carrie," he said, simply.

"Goodnight," she murmured back, though the line had already gone dead. She fought a wave of nausea that came clawing up through her chest, fighting tooth and nail to upend any ideas that she might have had of sleeping at all that night, and lay back down, letting her cell phone fall to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud.

She jammed her sleepy eyes closed, telling herself she'd bother with the rest in the morning; she'd delete her Call Log when she woke up. She was so, so tired.

.

Jack walked back to the cottage slowly, feeling again as though Carrie was going through something, some trouble, she wasn't saying. If she'd just share, he could have offered her a few words, practically useless, but it was the thought that count, right? He could have dug out some old joke, maybe made her smile, for a while.

When he stepped inside, Tru had switched the radio on. Not loudly, but it was noticeable. He stopped in the doorway, frozen, just watching her. Thinking no one was around to hear, she was singing along to one of Avril Lavigne's angsty happy-love pop songs: "_Doesn't really matter, how I feel inside. This life is like a game, sometimes. Then you came around me, the walls just disappeared. Nothin' to surround me, keep me from my fears! I'm unprotected! See how I've opened up! Oh!, you've made me trust. 'Cause I've never felt like this before! I'm naked, around you! Does it show? You see right through me and I can't hide. I'm naked, around you – and it feels so right! I'm trying to remember, why I was afraid, to be myself and let the covers fall away. Guess I never had someone like you, to help me fit in my skin! I've never felt like this before. I'm-_"

She cut off abruptly when she spied him standing by the door, watching her. She didn't blush, just said, "Close the door, please." Then she turned her back to him and moved away, returning with a plate of cut sandwiches. "It's a far cry from gourmet, but it'll have to do for tonight."

"Phones work," he told her dully, silently taking a sandwich.

Reaching for a sandwich, he noticed a purple-yellow bruise on Tru's wrist, but made no comment. In her line of work, she was always taking spills. Sometimes, those spills left marks. In time, the marks faded, the pain didn't. The stress kept on mounting, like bricks in a chimney.

"There's only one bed," Tru said, after a while, after she'd finished half of her sandwich (probably her second). "I checked, earlier. You're older, so you can have the bed, if you want. I'll take the sofa."

He frowned, managing to catch her eye. "Can't we share?" He'd thought that would be what she'd want, with all her talk of wanting him, of wanting to be near to him.

She walked to the sink to pour herself a glass of water, thankful that it was of drinking quality. "If you're comfortable with that."

"Are you?" he asked her back.

She finished filling her glass, turned off the tap. "I suppose," she replied, merely. "You don't talk in your sleep, do you?"

"I don't know. It's been a long time since I've been to a slumber party."

She laughed dryly, then seemed to regret it, quickly rearranging her face into an expression of neutrality. "I guess that makes us even," she said, taking a sip of her water.

He had the unfathomable urge to tell her that he liked her voice much better than Avril's, but he quashed that silly thought.

.

Tru changed into her pyjamas in the bathroom. She hadn't packed anything spunky or revealing – she hadn't had any reason to – and she was glad, now. Yeah, she was thinking maybe it would be nice, if Jack and her could... learn to make nice. She'd even be down with the kissing thing, but she wasn't down with the jumping-into-bed-and-making-a-night-of-it thing. Not as it stood, not just yet. She was still seeing how things turned out, what her feelings told her. She didn't want Jack to feel pressured into anything, to feel put upon, and she certainly didn't want to encourage him into any rushed sentiments. She could see he'd been alone for a while, she didn't want to give him the wrong message. First and foremost, she wanted to get to know him. He wasn't, by any measure, her booty call.

Clicking the light off and leaving the bathroom, she hoped he understood that, hoped he wouldn't expect her to put out just because they were sharing a bed. Sometimes, loneliness made you a little crazy, made you jump to strange, overblown conclusions. Needy conclusions.

Making it to the bedroom, she opened the door and slipped into the room, closing the door after her but leaving it ajar. She wasn't wearing anything on her feet and she could feel how new the carpet was, how it must have been replaced, recently. Strange, the things that popped into her head when she was trying to avoid something else, like being alone with Jack.

Out here, she couldn't just ring up Harrison and ask him to pop over, they'd do hotdogs together, watch a movie (his choice). It was just the cottage, the trees, the lake, Jack, and her. And the wide, dark night's sky, she reminded herself, her eyes already moving to the darkened window. She couldn't see the stars now, but when the light went out, when her eyes got used to the dark, she'd surely be able to see them, then, winking through the black of night, through the sheer lace curtains that hid very little. She'd like looking at the stars, she thought, trying to get off to sleep, and gazing at those winking diamonds in the deepest black satin sky, no city lights to mar the view, no smog to muddy up the waters. Warm under the covers, she'd like that.

Reining in her wayward thoughts, she stopped at the side of the bed, supposing she might just get her wish tonight: Jack had decided he didn't want the window side of the bed. The windows were double-glazed, the cold just poured right in. She wondered if that was why, or perhaps there was too much out there to distract him, too much to preoccupy his mind. Maybe he'd stay up all night, wondering what everything would look like come morning, or wondering if his sister truly was in a better place, a place where she no longer hurt. She wouldn't know unless she posed the question, and even then, Jack might just lie. He hadn't exactly been one hundred percent honest with her in the past.

Not that she blamed him. If she'd been in his shoes, she'd have tread lightly, too. Extremely lightly. A lonely existence, she thought. A substance-less existence.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, spoke quietly to the dark window, the unmoving lace curtains, too flimsy things. "Are you asleep?"

"I was thinking about it," Jack agreed.

She lifted her feet up off the carpet and swung them up onto the bed, untucking part of the blanket she was sitting on and settling under the covers. "It's quiet here," she said, just a general observation she'd made.

"Seems like it, doesn't it?" Jack replied. "It'll change, later. You'll start to get used to the quiet, then you'll start to pick out the anomalies. Small sounds, at first. The rustle of leaves, the distant rumble of a train passing by, a night bird calling out, saying something, warning of something. Who knows. A jet, overhead. Any number of insects."

Tru glanced up at the ceiling, painted egg yolk yellow, for no particular reason, as the walls below were done in various shades of pastel. She wasn't brave enough, yet, to turn, to meet Jack's eye. What if he had on that sad look he sometimes had? The one that cut her to the quick, that made her want to bundle him up in her arms and keep him safe from the world, from the sticks and stones, the cold, that made her feel just like a new mother. So protective, heart overflowing, afraid of missing even one little thing, of not being there. She didn't know why she felt like that about a grown man, but sometimes, she just did. She'd felt that way about Har more times than she could count on both hands and feet. And then there was the times that she'd felt so proud she was sure her heart would just burst, erupt from out of her chest, her heart beating in her throat, stopping up her words.

She'd only felt that way a couple of times with Jack. When he'd told her about his sister, how she'd been sick, then it had been better, she'd been in a better place. She'd nearly run to him and hugged him crazy tight, then. But, of course, she'd kept it all inside; it had just been in her mind. And then when he'd leapt in front of that bus, crazy boy, she'd almost fainted. Still, that one act had really impressed her. She hated to see little kids get hurt, so it was a no-brainer. As crazy as the boy was, he didn't like to see kids hurt, either. Whenever he was like that, she always loved him a little, then. Not in a romantic way, she just loved him. In a human way, she supposed.

"It never stays quiet for long," Jack told her.

He sounded lonely, but she still couldn't pluck up the courage to look. She felt like a teenager again, so nervous, afraid of being snubbed, afraid that the boy sitting next to her would shun her if she sought out his eye, or that, gosh!, he might have a secret biting fetish; he might be looking at her, too.

Her cheeks flushed pink, just a little, and she wanted to shake her head at herself. She was being silly. She was a young woman, not a teenage girl. She wasn't in high school anymore. This was Jack. Jack, who stole her soda then took a sip, decided he didn't like it, and, anyway, he'd only done it to get her heckles up, and left it for dead. Jack, who she didn't follow around like a lovelorn puppy. She'd never drawn a love heart 'round their names, never imagined herself as Tru Harper. None of that silly teenage stuff. Never listed their children's names in order of most favourite to least favourite. There was nothing for her to be blushing about.

"Tru?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you want the light out now?"

"I guess," she replied. "Do you?"

"Yeah."

"Tomorrow, I'll drive. You can sleep in the car to your heart's content."

Jack laughed. "I'm not sure I'd trust you behind the wheel of a speeding vehicle," he admitted.

She snickered. "If I can trust you, you can give me a little leeway, at least."

"I suppose I could give it a shot," he agreed.

She grinned. "Goodnight, Jack."

"Happy travels, Tru."

She smiled, listening to the sound of the lamp click off. The room was doused in darkness. For a little while, at least. She didn't feel cold, she felt suddenly hot, knew it was just the proximity, the differentness of the whole situation. She tried to prick up her ears and strain for any sounds from outside, but all she heard was the refrigerator from the kitchen, down the hall, and the sound of quiet breathing.

Suddenly, she heard a rustling noise. "Tru?"

"Yeah?" She narrowed her eyes against the gloom, peering at the ceiling intently.

"Do you think I could hold your hand?"

She frowned and almost shrugged. Then said, "Okay." She untucked her hand from underneath the blanket and edged it in his direction, her heart leaping in her chest uncertainly. Something warm touched her hand and she fought the urge to yelp, or giggle. _It's just Jack's hand_, she told herself sternly, feeling her cheeks burn harder. Sheesh! It wasn't a big deal. Maybe he was afraid of the dark, or something.

"Thanks," Jack murmured quietly, holding onto her hand warmly. He sounded sleepy now, completely non-threatening.

"I guess you hold hands at slumber parties," she commented.

"Mmm-hmmm... Always..."

"Thanks for not being a jerk," she whispered, though she knew he was already asleep. His hand had stopped holding her hand. She rolled over and picked up his hand, gathering it up in both of her hands, pressing it to her heart and closing her eyes. It was okay now. She didn't feel afraid in the dark or the quiet, not anymore, not with Jack beside her, sleeping soundly. Nobody was coming for her, she wouldn't have to sink down in the back of some closet, holding her breath inside, waiting, waiting, the terror mounting. Carl was gone, dead. That was the past. This was now. Now, Jack would stay with her, would make sure she wasn't alone in the dark.

She could sleep.

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><p><strong>I hope you all liked the chapter. That's it for me. Tootles! :)<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

The distraction came as a much needed reprieve from the sickness she'd felt since waking to the weak rays of morning light pouring in through the apartment window. It helped, to dispense of clothes, of false fronts, to feel his skin on her skin, his desire matched to her own. She didn't smile, but that was okay. She needed him too much, needed it too much. Her fingers curled, clawing his hip, urging him on with gritted teeth. She needed to forget, she needed to feel... just this. Just him, and her: them.

Even as she dragged in heavy breaths, the sickness abated, receded. But it wasn't enough, it wasn't soon enough. She needed it out of her system... now! She'd started to whine, to beg. If she'd had the breath for it, she'd have screamed, it was that bad. She could barely push out a thready whine, "More, _please_!"

All she wanted to do was forget. Let go.

.

Tru blinked open sleepy eyes, alarmed, suddenly, by something in her surroundings, some nameless thing that had set her on edge, even in her dreaming state. Her heart was pounding furiously, making her anxious, her chest tight. Clearing away the grogginess by resolve alone, she snapped open her eyes and kept them open, her eyes darting about, searching the room for any signs, any pointers, clues.

Her eyes landed on Jack. Her heart practically stopped clean in her chest. For all of two seconds, she was actually concerned, thinking he was having some kind of horrible nightmare or panic attack. An allergic reaction, anything. Then it struck her. Her cheeks reddened. Oh, how embarrassing! She suddenly wanted to shrink back into the mattress, maybe find the nearest closet and tuck herself away into its deepest, darkest corner. She didn't move a muscle, was too afraid of waking him. He'd probably freak, then she'd freak and it would be one big mess. She could already see it. She'd just die. Die!

She remembered the strange way Lindsay hadn't been able to quite meet her eyes that year in high school, on school camp, when she'd apparently overheard her having 'one of those' dreams. Anyone could have been mistaken in thinking it had been Lindsay who'd been caught out, the way she'd been blushing, the way she'd stuttered when recounting Tru's words, "Oh, honey!" Fiercely embarrassed herself, and feeling suitably chastised, Tru had wanted to burst out laughing then and there, had wanted to explain the whole thing to Lindsay, allay her fears. In the end, though, she hadn't been able to; she hadn't been able to embarrass Lindsay twice by telling her she hadn't been dreaming about a boy, she'd been remembering her mom, instead. So she'd swallowed her pride and taken Lindsay's skittish glances her way, she'd taken it like a grown up, even if she'd felt far from grown up.

In the end, it had turned out to be a good thing. Lindsay was just starting to take interest in boys, herself, and it had proved a crucial door-opener for many an awkward, exciting conversation. After a while, Tru hadn't been sorry for lying to her best friend. She'd felt she'd done a good deed. She remembered how rewarding it had felt, knowing she'd contributed something to their friendship. She'd always been a little spacey, according to her classmates, but this time, she'd got something right. She'd been almost gleeful, and so, so proud of Lindsay, feeling like a real adult.

She hadn't, of course, yet started to notice boys in that way. To her, they'd just been people. She'd never even thought of dissing them out for their unreliability, their inconsistency, for anything at all; she just hadn't understood the great divide between guys and girls. When she'd heard other girls making such remarks, she'd carefully refrained from dropping her jaw and stating how unfair a comment like that was, how taking sides just ended in tears, in the end.

Now, she had a feeling she knew exactly how Lindsay had felt that day. She just wanted to press her hands over her ears or scream, or laugh. But she wasn't that person, she wasn't a little girl anymore. She fixed her eyes onto the ceiling and let the sound of ragged breathing wash over her, telling herself it was reassuring, to know Jack was alive and hadn't died last night, to know he was human, too, but she just kept biting her lip, wanting to squeal and break into hysterical, wide-eyed peels of laughter.

She didn't know what was wrong with her, but it was killing her. Pretending everything was normal was killing her.

Clamping a hand over her mouth, she rolled her eyes from the ceiling and glanced back at Jack once more, eyes wide, wide. She watched the way he was clenching and unclenching his hands in the tangled-up blanket and she thought it looked kinda uncomfortable. She wanted to reach over and place her hand over his, say, "It'll be okay." No reason for it, she supposed, it was just a feeling she had.

She could imagine poor Lindsay, sitting on the edge of her suddenly too hard bunk bed, trying not to choke, or run out, leaving the door to slam against the wall in her wake. Right now, that was how she felt, praying for something to change. Ug! Maybe an owl would hoot, or something, and Jack would wake up. Maybe she could jam her eyes closed again and feign sleep.

She waited, and kept waiting, but owls were creatures of the night, a fact her rational mind had known but her current, fragile state of mind had conveniently forgotten. She bit her lip again, harder than the last time, and winced. She couldn't bite back a fierce whisper any longer. She suddenly wanted ice-cream, thinking of summer camp again. "Wake up, Jack!"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a moan, and sat up quickly, pushing the blanket off her (or what was left of it covering her, anyway), and pounced on her pillow, taking it in her hands and swatting it in Jack's direction. "Ha, ha!" she burst out, in between raucous laughter. "I'm winning!" She leapt to her feet, pushing back all thoughts of unsteadiness, and laughed manically. "Pillow fight!" she shouted, jumping up and down on the mattress like a little kid.

If nothing else had, that got Jack's attention. He pretty much snapped out of it then and there.

Staring down at him, she rebuked his reproving glance and poked her tongue out at him, swinging her pillow in his direction. A loud thud announced that he'd fallen off the bed, hastily miscalculating how far he could roll over before the mattress ran out.

She dropped her pillow and sunk to her knees, dissolving in laughter.

"What have you taken?" Jack finally asked, getting up and sitting back down on the edge of the bed, eyeing her as though she might be dangerous, rabid, even.

She was laughing so hard it hurt and tears were slowly making their way down her cheeks, but Tru shook her head, fighting for every little gasp.

Wincing, Jack learnt away from her, frowning at her. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want a glass of water?"

She pressed a hand to her diaphragm and sucked in a deep, hiccupy breath. "I hate... you! You made... me... laugh! I feel... like... I'm... suffocating!"

Jack stood up, massaging one of his hands with his other hand. "I'll be back. In the meantime, relax. Try not to suffocate, okay."

Tru watched him walk out and finally allowed herself to collapse on the bed, her stomach still hurting, but her case of giggles mysteriously cured. She took a deep, shuddery breath. Man, Jack was going to seriously think she'd lost the plot now.

He hadn't even blushed! Not even a little! She wanted to wallop him one for that.

_Not everyone is as immature as you, Tru_, she reminded herself, staring up at the ceiling, just breathing.

.

Jack placed the glass of water down on the sideboard with a sharp chink, closing his eyes and sighing. "It doesn't hurt," he whispered, to himself, no one but himself. "It's better, now." If only it was, he thought. If only it was!

"I love you, darling." He reached for the glass and picked it up again, heading for the bedroom. His hands had started to tremble, but he pretended not to notice.

.

Tru sat up slowly, taking her time to orient herself with what was up and what was down once more. She reached for the glass he held out to her slowly, like a child, her movements unsure, but wanting the water all the same. She drank her water slowly, staring at nothing, the end of her nose. She only drank half, then she gave a heavy sigh, sitting still, the glass clutched in her hands, in her lap, gathering her thoughts to her like a secret cloak, a secret defensive mechanism.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

She sighed again, eyes brightening suddenly. "Did you sleep well?" she asked. "I had the best dream! Lindsay and I were at the diner. This was when we were younger. Fifteen or sixteen. We were talking about a movie we'd just seen. At the picture theatre. There was ice-cream! Lindsay had a spider." Her eyes got a glazed over look, remembering her best friend, missing her.

_I know the feeling_, Jack thought silently. Sure, he'd never had a best friend, but he'd had a family. He'd had McCoy. And now she needed him and he couldn't be there for her, he couldn't find her.

Tru stared into thin air, for a moment, her expression falling. She closed her eyes, then snapped them open again, quickly, shaking her head. "Now, where's my phone?" She climbed off the bed and reached for her cell phone, snatching it up and dialling some number, sinking to the carpet with knees drawn up, back pressed to the mattress, counting every unanswered ring as though it was a little animal, crying, just hoping anyone would notice, would come, would help, just hoping.

"Hey, D! Just thought I'd let you know I made it here in one piece. It's nice. Oh! Early? Yeah." She laughed suddenly. "Sorry. I hope I didn't wake you. Okay. Have a nice day. Bye." She sighed, her hand falling to the floor. "Just call me Sleep Crasher!" she joked, the humour falling away from her voice.

Jack couldn't move from his side of the bed. He knew something was about to give, he just didn't want it to, wanted to deny it up until the last second, the last moment, when he'd have no choice but to face it.

"I feel so alone," Tru breathed, her voice wobbling at the end. "This is supposed to be a holiday, but it feels more like detention!"

Jack finally unstuck his feet from the floor and crossed the room, moving around the bed to stand next to Tru. He sat down beside her. "You're not alone, you know," he told her, glancing around at her. He punched her arm lightly, a gentle Hey, you!

Tru didn't smile. "I want to go home!" she whispered.

He couldn't not say something, hard as he tried. "What is it they say? 'Home is where the heart is'." He put an arm around her shoulders. "You like it here. It's nice. Nobody to turn their nose up when you start a tickle fight!"

She shrieked, her eyes lighting up with horror and joy, all at once, and she leapt away from him, to her feet.

He laughed at her response, at the look on her face just then.

She stared at him, a safe distance separating them now, and glared. "Run, Jack!" she warned, in a low voice.

He stopped smiling, eyeing her seriously, for a moment.

Her eyes flashed.

He stood up and pelted for the door. She ran after him. No way was he escaping unscathed!

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><p><strong>Not how I intended for it to turn out, but hey! Gag! I chickened out! Sorry... :(<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

_For cherrygurl1225._ I don't know where the story's going to go from here, but I hope you like this chapter anyway. I should probably quit slacking now and get back to the stuff I've got to do. Ugh! (Please don't think I mean to be creepy with the dedication, either. I don't.)

* * *

><p>The tinkling, jubilant sound of Tru's amused, melodious laughter died down, leaving an abrupt quiet that thrummed in Jack's head, then, finally, the sound of their heavy, exhausted breathing. He watched Tru for a moment, her chest heaving, knowing it was over, he was free. She had won; she'd let him go now. The air was still, her brown, wavy hair shook only with her heaving breaths, nothing more. They were outside now, hidden from the sun's brightness by the shade of a large, leafy tree, the disjointed patches of shade and brightness making Tru's hair glow, making it shimmer like a rich, cascading waterfall.<p>

Jack wasn't upset or anxious anymore, just a little worn out from all of the running and chasing and tickling. He was glad it was over, glad they were here, under this tree, just relaxing. And he was glad Tru was with him. If anything happened to her and she wound up dead, if her Calling fled to another, he didn't think he'd enjoy his job as much with some other person. He'd miss Tru; miss how she could make him feel alive, happy to be, even, at times.

Thinking about that, about how to proceed, how best to protect this obstinate, sparkling, wonderful young woman, he rolled over, taking Tru with him, reversing their positions... and taking her off guard, if her surprised giggle was anything to go on. Now she was safe, now she couldn't just jump up and run away. She'd have to go through him first.

He gazed down at her, the patchwork pattern the sun was casting through the tree leaves dancing playfully against her skin, and in her eyes, making them much more than glow, making them stunning pools of earthen brown, copper and gold, with a pinch of leafy green thrown in for fun. He stared, mesmerised by her eyes, by the warmth and solidness of her underneath him. His thoughts started to go a little hazy, his attention held by her eyes, his eyes lost in the wilderness of her soft, sunshine-filled gaze. She had such beautiful eyes, when her happiness was genuine, when her smile wasn't forced and frost-filled.

Without really knowing what he was doing, having forgotten now any understanding he might have had of action and reaction, of things done and consequences reaped, all of it gone to smoke and whispers carried away by the unfelt wind, he leant down and brushed his lips lightly to hers, and Tru didn't object, didn't try to stop him, but she slipped a warming, steady hand around his neck and invited him in, invited herself along for the ride. And before they knew it, they weren't just kissing, weren't just sipping much needed air they'd rather just forget about altogether in gasping breaths, they'd fallen back into old, familiar patterns, into their own complex, interwoven pattern, and they liked it there; they'd have spent all day there, if they could, wrapped up in their own world as the sun moved steadily higher in the bright, blue sky, its tendrils of light and warmth touching everything around them.

Perhaps it seemed like something out of a wonderful but sadly fleeting dream much more than reality, than the here and now and perfectly solid, perfectly malleable, and that was how they were so easily able to forget, forget for a moment the bigger picture, the Grand Plan. Or maybe that was just how the Universe wanted it.

His shirt was discarded, small femininely hands roaming across his chest with heated promise; her top was lost, his mouth moved from her throat to one full, round breast, skin grazing skin, hot, quivering and eager. Their breaths came out in hard, puffy pants, their hips meeting, crashing together, her back arching. She gasped, pawing at his back, as he rolled his tongue around her nipple, hard like a little pebble, and nipped it lightly with his teeth, making her buck beneath him, making her ache for him. She hated the space between them, their clothes in the way. She could feel how close they were, how close they were to that beautiful coming together, and her body craved it, needed it, her stomach clenched in pining.

Her hand found his pants, but he stilled her shaky advance with his own unsteady hand, the bits of cut grass sticking into her back making her itchy, reminding her of where they were, though she didn't care, not one bit. "Hey, let's take it easy, okay?" Jack breathed into her ear, his voice soft, purring. "We have all the time in the world. There's no need to rush, is there?"

Tru didn't want to take it easy, she didn't believe him. Couldn't believe him. Not even him, not even the small smile in his voice. She tried again, her hands insistent.

"Tru..." He stroked her hair, kissed her shoulder. A short, lingering caress.

To her, it was painful. She needed him, not his condolences, not his words. She whined, deep in the back of her throat. "I want to go inside. It's cold out here." She wasn't cold. She liked it out here, even with the prickly shards of withering, newly slashed grass, but she needed him, so much! And she needed him to need her. Out here, everything was a distraction, everything promised, threatened, to pull him away from her; to keep them apart.

"Shhh..." He held her close, protectively. She could fell his heart beating, hard and fast, like her own. Her throat felt tight, dry. She wished he'd just kiss her again and make her forget all of this, make her forget everything that separated them, everything that had no relevance, in this moment.

"Okay. We'll go inside."

Her eyes felt hot, irritated, tearful, but then he lifted her up in his arms, holding her close to him, and she rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the thud of his heart. It was okay, he'd take care of her, and they were going inside.

The gaping emptiness inside her hurt a little less. She smiled against his chest, listening to him breathing, knowing they'd be inside soon, they'd be together soon. Just the two of them.

.

Setting Tru down gently on the bed, Jack kept his breathing even, hoping to calm himself, to calm the stinging in his scar. He knew that McCoy needed him now, why else would the scar they shared be tingling, hurting even?, but he just didn't know how he could get to her, how he could help her when he couldn't even find her. Besides, right now, he had a job to do. And Tru needed him too. And... and he was tired, alone... a part of him just wanting to need her back... and he did.

He didn't know what to do. He was so confused. He just wanted to hold Tru, just hold her until the confusion cleared and his mind was clear again, but he knew that wouldn't sit fairly with Tru. He'd made a thoughtless promise in haste, in desperation, and now he'd have to see it through. It was only fair.

_Show time, baby! You want this too, Jack_, he reminded himself wordlessly, joining Tru on the bed. _Don't do this now, don't block her out now. You can do this!_ But he was afraid, afraid of just that, of going cold, of suddenly changing his mind, of no longer wanting this – even though he could have it – of letting Tru down. He scared himself sometimes, the way he wanted things sometimes, and then when he got them, they lost all of their allure for him. He didn't want to be that way. He just wanted to work the way he was supposed to work – to not be... be mad, insane!

Why did he have to be like this? Was he afraid, deep down inside? Afraid of what? Of rejection, of acceptance, of not measuring up, of not being enough – or of being exactly enough, exactly right? Was it normality that frightened him? Was it being needed? Was it no longer having those old, easy excuses to fall back on? Was it moving on that frightened him this much, that immobilised him with fear?

Why? Why! Why was he so afraid when he had everything to gain, when the future was so much nicer, so much kinder than the past? When it was exactly what he wanted? When Tru was exactly what he wanted? She would never hurt him on purpose, he knew that. She had her words and her little glares, but she'd also looked at him with fondness and love. She'd also told him she wanted him. Or was he afraid of hurting her himself, of the day when they'd have to say "goodbye", the day when he'd have to leave her? Was he afraid, in truth, of Life?

A tear ran down his face, stinging against his bare skin, burning like fire. He didn't brush it away; he didn't even want to acknowledge it. He didn't want it to get worse. It tasted like salt, in his mouth. He fought hard to ignore it, but his shoulders suddenly shook, it was happening anyway, whether he liked it or not.

"Jack? What's wrong?" Tru was sitting up, her eyes worried, trying to catch his own.

He pretended not to notice, pretended he hadn't heard her; pretended he wasn't even crying, breaking down in front of her. It was so embarrassing, except, he felt nothing. Just empty. /I'm not leaving you/, he wanted to yell. /I love you, Jojo! I would never, ever leave you! But why can't I have this one thing! Why, Joey? I just want to be happy! Why can't I be happy?/ He wanted to cry, to really cry, on the inside, even as he thought this. To scream at himself, to hit himself. He knew McCoy would never begrudge him anything, never. It was him. He was the one begrudging himself anything – everything! Just like he'd done with Megan. And then he'd lost her.

He pushed his tears away fiercely. No! No – he wouldn't lose Tru, too! No way! He just... couldn't! He couldn't – and he wouldn't!

"Jack?" Tru sounded uncertain, afraid for him. She thought maybe she'd done something, maybe all this was her fault, this hurt he was feeling... this pain!

He turned to her abruptly, shaking, his eyes burning, and met her eyes.

Something in her soft, sad eyes changed. It hurt him deeply to see that change. She wasn't sure if it was okay for her to be so bold after causing him such pain. But she hadn't caused him any pain! He'd done that himself!

He reached out a trembling hand, watching her flinch but refusing to back down, standing stoic 'til the last. He could read her thoughts plainly, painfully: She'd caused this mess, she couldn't just run out on it now that it had gone wrong. For a moment, his vision was blurred by fresh tears, tears for _her_, but he quickly blinked them away, needing to see her, to tell her with his eyes that none of this was her fault, he didn't blame her. She hadn't caused any of this. It had always been coming, this, reality, and with it, the inevitable pain, but that was okay. It was okay. He'd be okay, because he could grit his teeth and live through the pain. If he had her, he'd be okay. If he wasn't alone.

He touched her cheek gently, her jaw, his fingers brushing over her lips, his hands still shaking badly. "I need you, too," he whispered, the tears in his voice making it waver, but he never wavered for a second, his conviction remained strong, his eyes never leaving Tru's. At last, the truth. The truth was out.

His hand left her face, sliding over her shoulder, drawing her closer gently, and she obliged, her lips meeting his in a soft, consoling then deeper, passionate kiss.

Together, they didn't just break the invisible bonds holding them apart, they redefined their fates, they confirmed what was always meant to be, right from the start. They were together now, and nothing would ever be the same.

But that was okay.

That was more than okay.

It was exactly as it should be.


	15. Chapter 15

Having found a parking spot for the rental car, Jensen made sure to lock up before heading off down the footpath, trying his very best to ignore the hustle and bustle of the city and the accompanying frustration that came along with it. He'd known, from the moment he'd set foot in the airport in Africa, that he'd dread the time he spent back home, and his fears hadn't been for nothing. He still felt as hopeless as ever, just seeing all of the people going about their lives, arguing about this or that; even the smiling, seemingly happy people set his teeth on edge and he started to feel as though he couldn't breathe. He realised he'd come to hate this place. This place where people went about their lives, blocking out the problems of others as though they simply didn't exist, as though all that mattered was their own individual existence.

Coming to the corner of the very ordinary-looking suburban street, he had to stop to catch his breath and try and calm his rushing thoughts. Leaning his forehead against a sign post of some sort, the cool metal of the post offering a slight comfort to the nausea sweeping over him, he painfully reminded himself to breathe, just breathe. He would be okay, if he just remembered to breathe. The nausea got worse, the feeling of breathlessness increasing, making him gasp for breath, for even the most meagre breath of oxygen. He jammed his eyes shut before the colour drained from his vision and everything blacked out, before the dizziness overwhelmed him.

It came anyway, making it hard to know if he was standing still or spinning in circles, or tumbling down a deep abyss, down and down and down. He hung on to the sign post tightly, tears of uselessness and hopelessness prickling his eyes. It shouldn't have been like this. He was supposed to be getting better, getting better at handling himself in situations like this and dealing with his sometimes all-too-enveloping emotions. The way he was now, he was no use to anyone. Not even to himself!

Fighting to keep some small measure of control, some small piece of himself above the rising tide of sickness and wrongness, he let himself surrender to the tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn't fight everything, not all at once. He had to just take it one step at a time. As it was, he'd have dearly loved nothing more than to sink to the ground and disappear. Just disappear. A speck of dust on the footpath, on the warm breeze lightly caressing the city, making his nausea all the more potent and damning.

Here, in this place that rendered him utterly powerless, he wished nothing more than to surrender, to fall and not get back up again. He was tired. Too tired. He never should have come back, he should've stayed in Africa! He should never have come back, never have set foot in that airport at all. But he'd wanted to be what everyone expected of him, what _he_ expected of himself, just a _fraction_ of the old Jensen! He'd wanted to catch up with his friends and family, he'd missed them all terribly but he'd known there was no way he could stay. His only mistake had been coming back, he knew that now!

He could handle the bone-crunching ache he always felt in his chest when he thought of all the years he was missing out on, all the moments with his friends, friends who needed him. He'd been able to handle all of that, because he'd believed he was getting better; he'd been helping others, and they'd been helping him. But now, coming back home, all of that was wiped away, shredded instantly on contact.

He felt as though the skin had been ripped from his bones, leaving them bloody but bare, leaving him less than a shadow of the person he'd once been. He couldn't do this. He couldn't! If he had to crawl back to the hire car on hands and knees and lock himself inside it until night fell, darkness cloaking at least some of the city, some of the nauseatingly same sights, maybe he'd be able to do it. Just maybe! But walk up to Tru's sister's house and knock on her front door – the front door of a woman he'd never met in his life and had only found out her address through Avery – no! He couldn't! He just... couldn't!

He was a failure at being even him, at being _Jensen_!

Burying his face in his hands, he let his tears take full control of him, let all of his fears bob to the surface and bask in the warm, summer air.

No passers-by stopped to ask if he was okay, or if he needed any help, and that was okay with him. The problem wasn't that he hated them, or even this city. He hated the fact that they were so oblivious, yet they weren't, not as they made out, just to get by; they knew things, they had suspicions, their suspicions were real and there was plenty of proof floating around if you wanted to look, wanted to find it. It was the breakdown of society, of community, that did him in, every time. The loss of humanity inside these people. These people he didn't know, might never know, but absolutely, categorically loved. Because he was human, too.

Breathing heavily, he finally allowed his eyes to flutter open, to unstick and reveal the world that still existed around him. His heart ached, but he'd always known it would. Looking, taking it all in, always made it more fresh, cut open all of those old, but so very ageless wounds again. He was kneeling on the footpath, he noticed. The nausea had passed, leaving only a feeling of emptiness in its place. His eyes stung, felt too puffy. He made an effort to stand and found that he could, he wasn't about to sway this way or that or fall over again. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to do this thing.

A little girl was waiting, he told himself. Even if she didn't know he was coming, he knew. He knew, and so she was waiting. She was waiting because he was waiting, and if he let her down, if he disappointed her by not showing up, she'd always still be waiting. Of course she would, even if she didn't know she was waiting. Because that's what people did, they waited, they lived; time progressed.

A child was waiting for him: What was he waiting for?

.

"I, ah... Hi..." He tried his best not to rub his eye, not to fidget too much. He was afraid of freaking Tru's sister out. She wasn't much like Tru, she was blonde. Her eyes were blue, more like Harrison's. Her skin was the colour of cream. Her house was fairly regular, if not pricey. She was standing in her front door, blocking the way in, frowning at him, and he was finding it hard to speak, to pluck the words he wanted to say out of his mind and place them in his mouth and just say them, just get them _out_.

He was freaking her out, he could tell.

"My name's... My name is... I'm Jensen," he told her, staring hard at a spot on the door frame to her left.

"Tru's boyfriend," Meredith recalled. "Hi."

"I..."

She leant closer, finding it hard to hear him, and he leant back violently, thinking of how he must seem pretty strange to her, pretty erratic, and how she must be worried he could be some kind of... bad person. He'd overlooked the fact that she'd been the one to lean closer to him, that she'd put some small measure of trust in him and decided to see what came of it. Or maybe he just hadn't liked that she had, that she trusted some crazy guy who'd just stepped in off the street and who could be lying through his teeth.

She leant back, her eyes suddenly guarded, wary.

Tears pricked his eyes again. That wasn't what he'd wanted. No, he hadn't wanted her to be afraid of him, to be distrustful of him. He was just... confused. He frowned painfully, forcibly meeting her eye. "We're not... I'm not... We're not together anymore," he said, suddenly breathing hard. Things weren't going as he'd planned. They were going sideways. Very, very sideways. It was getting hard to breathe again.

Tears welled in his eyes. It was too hot. The sun was too hot. "My name is... Jensen," he told her. "I... I was told it was your little girl's... birthday soon. That your little girl's birthday was coming up. So I... I have a gift for her. For you to give... to her. A birthday... But... but for her birthday."

"Okay," she replied vaguely, eyeing him with caution, mentally assessing the damage he could do, if he flipped, the harm and hurt he could cause. Debating with herself whether she should call the cops, probably.

"I... There's no need," he rushed to tell her, brushing a tear from his cheek as it fell. "I won't be staying. I'm... Don't call the cops. Please, I'm leaving! I just..." He reached into his jacket pocket with sweaty, shaking hands, taking out a silver, love heart locket on a matching silver chain. "Please!" He held the necklace out to her desperately. "It's for... her birthday! I'm sorry. I'll be going. You don't have to... be afraid..."

Wincing uncertainly, Meredith reached out a hand slowly, turning her palm up so he could drop the necklace into it safely. She really didn't want to touch him, he looked ill. She started to say, "It's lovely, thank-" and froze, her eyes widening when he touched her hand, dropping the necklace into her palm and closing her fingers over it, clutching her hand in both of his.

"I'm sorry," he whispered shakily, his shining eyes locked with her, swimming with tears.

"Thank you," she breathed, though she had no idea how: she felt as though someone had stolen her breath. All of a sudden, without warning, she found herself feeling bad for this strange, twitchy young man standing on her porch with his tear-filled eyes and disjointed, garbled way of speaking. She couldn't imagine Tru ever falling for a guy like him – not in a million years – but she felt so, so sorry for him. He really needed help. Maybe Tru had been trying to help him, and maybe that had frightened him, like it had used to frighten her, so he'd run away. Simply run away.

She could almost see that for him.

She tried to smile, but it came out more pained that she would have liked. Still, she felt his hands release her hand, she saw him backing away, already leaving, as he'd promised. She watched a tear roll down his cheek and felt torn. What should she do? Was it okay for her to let him go when he was in the state he was in? Or should she tell him to stay, she'd call someone for help, call someone who'd be able to help him? Would he panic and run? And then what? What if he hurt himself, or someone else? But could she really invite him into her house, into her home? What if he turned violent and hurt her, what if he hurt Bea? She couldn't take that chance, could she?

"W-wait!" She whispered the word so quietly she almost didn't hear it herself, but the young man froze, almost as though she'd slapped him. "J-Jensen, did you say that was your name? Jensen, would you like to come in... just f-for a cup of coffee, or something? Maybe a glass of water?"

He shook his head ever so slightly, fear shining out of his wet blue eyes.

Meredith couldn't get her head around that. Was he afraid of her, or for her? Had he taken drugs or was he just... a little bit loopy to begin with? More than likely it was a combination of the both, she thought, watching him staring at her like that, all wide-eyed and fearful. She remembered Tru saying she'd met him at med school.

She tried for another smile, playing it cool. "I don't bite," she joked, supremely pleased that she'd pulled it off, and even more glad of the little comedic flourish she'd added there at the end.

Still, he didn't bite. The fear in his eyes was still there. Something was unsettling him. Probably her, most likely her, she thought. She did that to some people. They just... didn't like her. Her voice, the looks of her, any of it. They found her abrupt or shifty or... she just didn't have one of those soft, round faces that made everyone melt inside and imagine she was all soft and gooey at heart, in a good way. She didn't even have honest, open eyes. She knew she had mistrustful eyes. She was a very mistrustful, wary person, so it naturally followed that it would be reflected in her eyes.

"You just look like you could do with some perking up," she found herself rambling. "A good, strong cup of coffee ought to hit the spot." She tried smiling again but Jensen stayed where he was, rooted to the spot. She worried that she'd kind of overdone it with the smiling and the pushy friendly tone.

She put a hand to her head, afraid to take her eyes off him for a second but going out on a limb, anyway, and shook her head. If he left and something happened, her guilty conscience would never let her live it down. He was somebody's son, for Pete's sake! "I'm sorry. I don't even know if you drink coffee." She laughed, her heart throbbing madly in her chest. God, she was acting really berserk today. Maybe she was coming down with something? She hoped not. If she ruined Bea's birthday by making them both sick, she'd be kicking herself all year. She mentally scribbled a Post-it to remind herself to take her vitamins before bed, and to give Bea her children's vitamins, too.

Bea was distrustful of anything that looked like tablets, but the vitamins she gave her looked like sweets, like colourful jellies with sugar dotted on the outside, so it was okay. She ate them and didn't spit them out, worried that they might end up poisoning her in the night if she accidentally swallowed them.

Meredith was eternally grateful for those vitamins. She hadn't lied to Bea exactly, she'd told her, "They're sweets but they're good for you", and that was more or less the truth. It took the sting out of it, knowing she hadn't lied to the little girl, to her daughter.

"I've got ground," she told Jensen, then lowered her voice and shared, "I don't drink instant. It gives me a headache. Awful, awful stuff. Never touch it. Uck!" She ran a hand over her hair, wondering how long they'd be standing out here like this, shooting each other these awkward looks. "You look terrible, hon. Just... beat. Come in, go on. I won't say anything if you don't want me to. We don't have to talk. We'll just be two people sharing a coffee." She frowned, seriously doubtful that anything she'd just been saying had made an impact on him at all. "Does that, does that sound alright to you?"

"Y-you're... Meredith. Your name, it's..."

"Meredith," she finished for him. "Yes, that's right, honey. Pleased to meet you."

He nodded quickly, out of habit.

She smiled, half turning to the door. "Do you... want to come in? It's okay. I don't mind. It's really no inconvenience at all. None at all. In fact, I'd be glad of the company, to tell the truth. I, um... I'm a bit of a loner... much to my detriment. But I'm... I'm working on it!" She raised a fist and grimaced. "It's slow going, breaking out of the old habits, but I'm ready to take the plunge, and I really need to. I really do. I'd absolutely love for you to have coffee with me, Jensen. And, hey, there's no pressure. If... if you've got things to do, or you just don't want to, I'll understand..."

"I can... For you, I can do that... For... a friend..."

She smiled. "Thank you! So, so much! You're a darling!" _Don't push it, Mere_, she snapped at herself, stepping back from the door and slipping the locket into a pocket of her slacks quickly.

.

As it turned out, they didn't talk. They just sat and drank coffee together. But that was alright, Meredith really didn't mind. She did keep an eye peeled, in case the young guy had a moment and went a little funny, but he seemed to have calmed down nicely. He didn't look quite so tearful and he didn't rush over to the sink and spit his coffee out the second he took a sip.

Meredith couldn't quite picture Tru and he as an item, which was a little worrying, but most of the worry came from the fact that she thought his eyes quite nice, and his face... quite nice. It worried her that she had suddenly developed some crazy soft spot for this guy, and not because of him, but because of her. Yes, she knew she was capable, and she could be lovable, given time, and with a little effort, but... she couldn't help thinking, _Shit, Mere, you're not really all that, are you? Are you sure you're enough, 'cause I have my doubts, seriously. You're kinda... bland, to tell the truth. You're not sparky or fun-loving or any of those things guys love and that make them stick around, and make them keep coming back for more. In a nutshell, you're Meredith. You're not... anywhere near... how like Mom was, or how Tru is. You're just... you. And I can't stand you sometimes – a lot of the time – so how do you expect some guy to?_

She was down on herself, but this was one concern she knew that really counted, that really mattered. She didn't want to be Plain Jane, she wanted to be... different, more. She wanted her man's eyes to light up when he saw her, and his little heart to start pitter-pattering with excitement. She wanted to be _something_! Something to somebody, not just... Meredith Davies, ex-druggie, sister and daughter, and new mother. She wanted to be wanted, not just there, around; not just loved because that was what you did, a daughter loved her mother, siblings loved each other, a father loved his kids.

She didn't want to hurt anyone anymore, she just wanted to exist!

So it scared her that she could feel like that about Jensen, her younger sister's ex. _I mean, come on!_ She wasn't some... boyfriend snitch! And she didn't want to be. Even if they were no longer together. And she didn't want to be the second best option. She was honestly glad Jensen and she hadn't got to talking, because if he'd smiled at her, or she'd even suspected in the least that he was thinking maybe they could start something here, she'd probably have gagged and thrown her coffee all over him. Which wouldn't have been nice, or even funny. Just downright cruel. But, gah!, that was just her! And it killed her!

It killed her how she was so insufferable, always nitpicking this or that, and how she forcibly had to restrain herself from saying things that she knew other people would find hurtful but she just wanted to get out in the open because someone had to say it, sooner or later, and it was so frickin' the truth. Her truth! _Hers_, not somebody else's! But she always self-aggrandised, and it killed her inside, it made her feel so bloody worthless. Some days, she didn't even think anything she felt or said or thought was real, and others, well, she could have bawled a river, thinking nobody cared a damn about _her_. She was so manic it freaked her out.

She was avoiding the issue, she knew, but the issue freaked her out, too. More than anything else. More than anything else because she'd noticed how Jensen had really nice lips and she'd started to wonder what it might be like to kiss those lips, to kiss him, and she'd just wanted to drop her cup and run out of the room. But adults didn't do things like that, so she hadn't... and now she was thinking it again. She couldn't stop thinking it. She was about ready to conk herself over the head with the mug in her hand, anything would be better than thinking the same thing, over and over and over, as though she was some kind of weirdo who obsessed over stuff like that and thought about it all the time, and never stopped thinking about it.

If that happened, she was going to hit herself with her cup and be done with it! She wasn't even anyone's idea of hot girlfriend material, so it was so far, far off-the-mark that it was absurd. Simply absurd. Where had she got the idea that this guy might like to kiss her, might even _want_ to kiss her, in the first place? She was nuts. Absolutely berserk! Oh, God, how was she going to look Tru straight in the eye again! Her little sister!

It was too horrible to bear contemplation.

She was so glad when Jensen finally finished his coffee. She almost cried, she was that happy. If she could have, she'd have ferried him out the door and slammed the door and locked it in a snap. However, as that would be extremely rude, she didn't do that.

"It was... great..." _not talking?_ "-catching up with you at last," she said, off the top of her head, nodding. "Maybe we can catch up again sometime. Sometime when, ah, Tru's around, too. That'd be great."

"I don't think so," Jensen replied, his voice sounding steady at last.

Meredith didn't know what to say to that, or whether she should be offended or not. She decided to let it slide, and gestured towards the door. "I'll... just show you out. Happy travels and all that," she added, with a laugh.

"Thank you."

Meredith smiled tightly, looking at the door rather than at him. She didn't trust herself just yet. It was obvious he wasn't interested, if the stiffness in his voice was anything to go by, and she wasn't the type to push people beyond their comfort zones. That was just asking for trouble, as she remembered rightly when others had pulled it on her.

She grimaced, pulling open the door and waiting for him to go, leaving her to close the door. When he didn't hurry off as she'd imagined he might, she added, "Bye", as an added incentive.

"Yes. Good-goodbye, Meredith. I really appreciate your hospitality, I really do. And the coffee," he smiled. "You're... you're okay."

"Excuse me?"

He frowned a bit.

She resisted the urge to bang her head against the door. "O... okay," she returned hurriedly. "I... think you're okay, too. That's great! Yay! Happy happy... yay!" She closed her eyes. "Can you just go now please?" she asked quietly. "I do well in company, up until a point, then, to be frankly honest, I become an absolute bitch. I'm sorry. I'm sorry! If you can just... go, I'd be so, so thankful to you!"

She opened her eyes slowly, irritated that she couldn't even blush. At least if she'd blushed, he wouldn't think her such a freak, such a weirdo.

Wincing silently, Jensen nodded and walked out onto her porch, but, for some ridiculous reason, she didn't want him to go anymore. She was already conjuring up the image of going out there and grabbing him by the front of his clothes and dragging him back inside, kicking the door closed, and banging him up against it and kissing him senseless.

It had to stop!

She slammed the door closed immediately, the blush she'd been so wishing for only moments ago now rising agonisingly in her cheeks. She spun away from the door, backing into it and hoping he just left, and left her alone. She couldn't stop thinking about kissing him. She could even sort of imagine the feel of it.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed a little bit, letting her imagination run away with her for a second or two before snapping out of it abruptly, feeling nothing but disgust at herself. God, she could be so loathsome sometimes! She didn't know how anyone could stand it, let alone Tru and Harrison! How they could still _love_ her!

She spun back to the door and pulled it open, peeking out around it onto the porch. There was nobody there, it was completely empty. Jensen had done as she'd asked, and left. She put a hand to her mouth, suddenly wanting to cry, and closed the door again.

She had to stop thinking about that guy! Seriously.

Walking to Bea's bedroom, she opened the door a crack and peeked inside at her daughter. As was to be expected for the early hour, she was fast asleep. She pushed the door open a mite more and slipped quietly into the room, tiptoeing across the floor to the bed. She bent down briefly to retrieve a toy alligator from the floor and settled cautiously on the edge of the mattress, watching this little child sleeping quietly.

Feeling a loving pang in her chest, she lay down on the mattress and snuggled up to the little girl, wondering how she'd ever got so damn lucky to be this beautiful, fantastic creature's mom.


	16. Chapter 16

He hadn't really wanted to go, hadn't wanted to dress up for some evening out, even if they did call it a 'charity event'. He'd seen all the use their money was put to, and the fact remained, the money was useless if the organisations it funded weren't really in it heart and soul, if the people they comprised were more worried about looking good than doing good. If he was honest with himself, the only reason he went was for his parents, to please them... one last time, for the good times. Not that they'd ever really been 'good', so maybe the operative word should have been 'old'. Actually, he liked 'dead' better, himself. Because he wasn't their good little boy anymore – he was an adult and he was _real_ – _he_ was human, too, not just a puppet, their puppet. A puppet who only came out when called on, to put on a good show and then sink back into the shadows and slink off once more, to be ignored again until the next time, until the next 'show'.

One last time, he promised himself. This time, and then none more. This was their last dance, his last show with them to say "goodbye". He couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't be their show pony anymore, live their life instead of his own anymore. He had to break away, break free. He needed to live for himself, to choose for himself. And he could do it. He could.

Because he'd already shown himself capable of it. He'd broken things off with Tru because he'd seen the truth, seen that as much as he'd liked Tru, he hadn't loved her, and continuing to lead her down that path, to the path to loving _him_, had been wrong. He did like Tru, even now, but their relationship just wasn't meant to be a romantic one, just as Avery's and his hadn't meant to be before. He'd been trying to fool himself into believing he was okay after Lexi had hurt him, after they'd hurt each other, and he'd seized on Tru's attempts to befriend him, believing they were a sign. But they weren't, and Tru was just as hurt as he was... she'd felt just the same as him after her boyfriend's death, as though she'd been left for dead. He could see that now, could understand it. Letting her go had been the right thing to do, and a good thing for both of them, he thought now.

The way he was now, he wasn't in any condition to be in a romantic relationship with anyone. Half the time, he couldn't even count on just being there for himself; his emotions, his thoughts, could scramble at a moment's notice, leaving him little to no warning, and then come crashing down in a viscous onslaught that left him confused, frightened and alone, feeling like an outsider in his own body. And maybe that was normal, all part of the grieving process, because he was grieving. Not for Lexi, not for the child they'd never have, or even for the way he'd felt with her, the way he'd been certain he'd made her feel, but for something else entirely. For the unreal reality he'd lived in his whole life, completely immersed in it he couldn't see past it, but now that he had, he knew there was no going back. There was no going back to that misinformed, once-comfortable place, just as there was no going back to one's childhood, no way to turn back the clock, to turn back time. His eyes had opened and now he couldn't close them, couldn't go back because what had once been Heaven had revealed itself to be, in fact, Hell. And so he was stuck, trying to break free, but still here, hanging in limbo between the two. He hadn't managed to get away just yet.

Standing in this place of immaculately sparkling crystal chandeliers, at first glance seemingly warm and inviting, sophisticated and fanciful, a reprieve from the pressures of life and all of its turmoil, with marble at his feet, Jensen felt sick. The crystal couldn't cast its luxurious enchantment over him, to him, it was sharp and stark, the light that poured from it stinging and harsh, every reflection it caught, every shard of light it welcomed and cast off again, a painful stab, a nail in the coffin for that old life, for the very person he'd once been. That person made him sick now! All of the people parading around, living the 'high life', made him sick to his stomach. He didn't know them individually, most of them, and he didn't hate them, certainly not them personally, but they made him ill and weak inside, made him feel as though even the blood running through his veins, his very genes, was wrong, ill. This was their world, not his. A world that was perfectly black and white, perfectly pressed and starched, to them. But a hell for him!

He wanted to turn, to run and flee, to just get away. The air had turned so thick it might have been made of bricks and mortar; all of the words running through his mind, the words he suddenly couldn't speak, would do naught but to fall on deaf ears in this stuffy place, would serve to upset, offend, rile. Here, in this place that was his own personal version of Hell, he wished to flee, to run away and just be alone. In the past, he'd have felt the urge to run to friends, to Avery, his oldest and very best friend in the entire world, probably the universe, but he couldn't do that now. Yes, he knew she'd have him, but he'd be deceiving her. She would be taking him in under false pretences, believing him to be Jensen Ritchie, her best friend, a person he longer was and was, at once. This thing, this change, this delicate balance that had so suddenly tipped, sending his life spiralling out of control, out of his hands, had always been inside of him, had always been waiting, he knew that; watching. Everything that had happened, had been another question for it: Is he ready, or should we give him more time? This, who he was now, was the person he'd always meant to be – this was Jensen Ritchie! Only, Avery didn't know this Jensen, she only knew the old Jensen.

Even if she could have taken it, he couldn't hand it out. She had a big heart, he knew that, knew it better than probably anyone, because she'd have scoffed in your face if you told her, and he couldn't bring himself to be the one to hurt her, to scar that big, wonderful heart of hers, to take away a little of that bigness with scar tissue. He couldn't do that to his best friend, to his beautiful, wonderful, perfect Avery.

He had to stand on his own two feet now, he was a grown man, and that was exactly what he intended on doing tonight. Nobody else would suffer _for_ him, he alone would take that pain, for it was his and his alone to take. And it would not break him down, it would bolster him in his time of need, in his mission, it would remind him of what needed to be done, and how things would only get worse – much, _much_ worse! – the longer he put off doing so. He would tell his parents tonight, he promised himself. Better to break their delusions cleanly, to end them dead, rather than perpetuate them any longer. He might have been capable of hardness, but he liked to think he didn't do so well with cruelness.

The food only served to feed the sickness he felt inside, and every time he felt ready to speak, to say something real and not just chat about this or that, his parents were always in conversation with someone else, and it was ever so impolite to interrupt. He didn't want to embarrass them in front of the world – in front of their world, at least – he just wanted to tell them the truth, the truth about how it was going to be with their son from now on. They never gave him a chance. Tears threatened to involve themselves, but he told them "no, go away". He didn't want tears, he wanted his Mom and Dad. If he could have them, if he couldn't speak his mind, then he would have no choice but to circumvent them and do things the hard way. He would have no choice but to write a letter he was sure they would get and most probably read, silently fuming the entire time.

_I'm sorry, Mother and Father_, he wanted to say, when they should chance to catch his eye, wrapped up in idle conversation with their 'friends'. _Believe me when I say "I love you", but ours isn't a fairytale love. It never was, and it will never be. So, please believe me, but this is me saying "I love you, but you don't own me". No human being can own another without their permission. Oh yes, you can think you do, you can even own their body, if you are exceptionally cruel, but you can never, never own their mind, if they rebel, if they repel you. You can ever try to capture their soul with false promises, or inhuman threats, and you can hurt them beyond their ability to take anymore, but you will never own their soul. For in the end, when all is said and done, it will fly away, and when it looks back on all that has happened, the pain will be more than just pain, it will be a life lesson, and you won't ever have owned them at all. It is life that owns us, it is our ability to know and feel, our sentience, not anger or even pain, and life goes on. Life goes on. For when it stops, we cease to know, and at that time, we feel no pain or anger or regret: We are no more and that is all. Life no longer owns us and we no longer own it._

Suppressing a weary sigh, he hoped he was doing the right thing, he hoped he wasn't disappointing Life. It felt like the right thing, for him, for now, he just hoped his parents wouldn't fool themselves into believing his leaving was the end of their lives, was the ruin of them. If they did that, they'd only be betraying themselves. They might even blame him for it, but it wasn't a situation that called for blame to be laid. It was just life, that was all.

_You've held onto me without really holding me for so long now, it's time to let go. All the time you thought you held my hand, I only ever held yours, and even that, I didn't really do. You never let me. I was an outsider to you, I never really knew what was in your heart. Let me go, please, if you ever really loved me at all. Let me go._

The glittering evening wore on wearily, his thoughts his, and only his. There was no special bond between parent and child, not here, in this place, in present company. None could survive, all was crushed to ash and cinders underfoot, and Jensen felt useless, robbed of the little connection he'd ever felt with his parents that might have persisted. Ignored.

He could have been spending his evening any way he'd wanted, but he'd chose to come here. He didn't know why – actually, he _did_ – and he didn't regret having chosen to do so, he just couldn't escape the feeling that his efforts had been in vain, had been, once again, useless. Would he ever get through to his parents? He honestly couldn't have guessed, not tonight, not at that moment.

He had no idea of his mother's intentions, or how shallow her mind could honestly be, sometimes, for it was clear, by the sparkle in her eye, that she thought herself the perfect mother, thought herself doing him – and them all, by extension – a wonderful, wonderful favour. He was a nice young man. Tonight, he would have the pleasure of meeting a nice young woman who may just steal his heart and earn his parents stamp of approval in one. It was all just so _nice_.

When his mother's 'surprise' was revealed and he was called up in front of the crowd, he felt more than sick. He felt the most horrible sense of deja vu he could swear he'd honestly ever felt in his entire life, and it wasn't a good feeling. He felt slightly like passing out, and he was sure a little of the colour had gone out of him. Oh, wasn't his mother wonderful! And now they were 'auctioning' him off like the possession they'd always seen him as!

He fought back the rising nausea and his own dark, acrid thoughts, swirling like oil on water inside him, seeming only to feed off his nausea, seeming only to mount, rising quick and insistent to the surface of his thoughts, physically paining him with the effort it took not to raise his voice, not to reject his mother's little fun and games, not to cause a scene. He didn't want to do this! He didn't want to be his mother's toy any longer, and he didn't want to have to lie to some rich, pamper little girl, either!

He just wanted out! Out of all this madness!

_Smile, Jensen, for God sake, smile!_ It was all he could do now. He would have to suffer one last time, and then, in the morning, they'd never see him again. He'd make sure of that. He would never, ever speak to them again, or even write to them. Never send a birthday card, or a Christmas card, or enquire as to how they were. He'd just disappear!

Walking to the front on unsteady legs, he forced a smile onto his face and hoped nobody picked out his lie, hoped, for the life of him, that his smile came out genuine and not too much like a thinly disguised scowl. He didn't want to scowl, he didn't want to be angry, he just wanted to let go. He hadn't been quite strong enough before, but now he saw that he could do it. He could step away now and never come back. He could now.

Thinking sadly that at least that was one, tiny positive to come from this otherwise depressing evening, he managed to perk himself up a little, to convince himself that a little smile wouldn't be a bad thing. Tonight, he said "goodbye" to his old life. A little smile wouldn't hurt anyone, would it? Goodbye was not the end. Except it was, for his parents. But, for him, it was a new beginning. He should have been smiling – he should have been celebrating!

Oh, God, he was descending into hysteria!

Dread settled over him, like a bucket of cold water thrown over him, dousing the small spark of hope he'd felt earlier, the small glimmer of happiness he was going after her at the end of the tunnel. It died and disappeared, leaving nothing to the imagination.

_Shhhh. Shhh_, he tried to soothe himself, _it's going to be okay. It's just one more night. A couple of hours. It'll be okay, you'll get through it. You'll live._ Yes, he knew he would live, but it still hurt. He couldn't quite dull that edge, not right now, but perhaps he was making things out to be worse than they were, jumping to rash conclusions. He didn't even know who would win him for this night; maybe she'd turn out to be a really nice, really down-to-earth girl. Maybe he'd even get along with her, and they'd have a pleasant evening, in spite of his mother's efforts to matchmake him with a suitable (wealthy) girl. _Now try to smile, or you'll scare all the girls away._ It was meant as bit of a joke, bit of a pick-me-up, and it worked. Happily. Just a touch, but a touch was enough.

.

The woman who bid on him the hardest, and ended up winning, in the end, was married, and probably not the one intended to receive a night out with him. She wasn't bad looking, even with her short red hair that looked a little prickly. She had a kind face when she smiled. He supposed she was somebody's mother, though that made him feel a little queasy, wondering how her daughter was going to take being foisted off onto some total stranger for an evening. He could tell she didn't mean any harm by it, though. She thought it would be a little bit of fun, that was all. She wasn't looking to set her daughter up with a husband.

He decided that he didn't dislike her. She was probably a nice person, in her own way. It almost helped with a panic, imagining her as a good mother, a good person, but panic won out in the end, anyway.

He had a good hunch her husband didn't like him, if the look he was now giving him was any indication, as though he didn't think him good enough for his daughter, or trustworthy enough.

Jensen didn't smile. The guy would probably only think him a cocky, rich little bastard, if he did, so he didn't. He didn't drop the guy's gaze, either. He was trustworthy. If the guy didn't buy it, tough luck. He didn't mean to make his parents look bad. No way! Not in front of this rich guy who thought he knew it all, had seen it all – probably thought he owned it all, too. He'd have sooner dropped dead than left his parents out for the wolves, or this guy. Yeah, come the end of the night, he'd fuck off and never set foot in their lives again, but he didn't hate them. He loved them, but that was exactly the point. He loved them, and he couldn't... he couldn't move, or even function as he needed to, when he had to constantly be thinking about them, about how they would feel if he did this, or if he said that, when they couldn't reciprocate, when he was still just a toy to them. A living, breathing toy.

He loved them, but he wouldn't take that pain. Not even for them.

The guy at the table with the red-headed woman smiled, thinking he'd read his number, and looked away. Jensen resisted the urge to shake his head, or smack himself over the face. He'd let his thoughts distract him, and now this guy thought he was a loser, and he probably thought the exact same thing of his parents. Or worse, for raising a loser. _Wonderful!_

He swallowed a sigh and started back to his table, seeing no reason in sticking around in plain sight and teasing all of those other women who'd missed out on their 'opportunity'. His mother smiled brightly at him, when he got back, her eyes twinkling as though she thought she could read his thoughts, only, she had no idea of his thoughts, in reality. He didn't mind. She looked happy, he didn't bother to upset her. She liked living in her own little world, and he didn't think she'd be able to take living in any other. No matter how much she thought she loved him, she'd only reject what he had to say, believing him to be sick, not himself. She'd tell him it was a phase that would pass; she'd try to pull him to her and hug him, as though this act alone could cure him. She'd instantly dismiss his concerns, thinking that was okay. He was a liar therefore she could ignore him. She wasn't being horrible, she was doing him a kindness, not hurting him further by continuing to point out his every little fault.

That was how it was with his parents. He was wrong and they were right. End of story.

Taking his seat, he supposed it had been a good thing he hadn't found the right moment to let them know his intentions. They'd probably have had him carted off and locked up in the winking of an eye, and pumped full of drugs in the winking after that. He loved them. He did. But it wasn't blindly. It could never be blindly. He'd loved them that way as a child and it hadn't worked out, and it wouldn't work out now. Love like that never did.

Maybe he could have persuaded himself to hang on, if it had been for a woman, but it wasn't, and probably never would be. So that was it, then. His decision made.

He watched his mother and father laughing together, though he hadn't caught the joke, and fought the urge to frown. There was something he'd forgotten, he just knew it. It was a full moment later that it struck him what that was, what he'd forgotten.

The man at the table with the red-headed woman: he knew him! He was Tru's father. Well, he had been... a long, long time ago.

He figured that meant the guy _definitely_ didn't like him. Not after he'd dumped his daughter the way he had, and not just once, but _twice_! Only, if this was all some funny joke, he wouldn't let Richard win. Not tonight. He was in love with Tru, that was true, but he did care for her, and he'd have dearly loved to remain a friend to her, if she'd have him. Richard was only going to be hurting himself, if that was his intention. Jensen wasn't the type that enjoyed hurting his friends just because he could, to 'test' their friendship. He might have come from a wealthy family, but he didn't do things like that. He called it like it was. When Lexi had told him she was pregnant, he'd been ready to marry her, to support her and the baby all the way. When he'd found out she'd had one over him, he'd called it off, and, yep, he'd ended the relationship. Because it had been the right thing to do, for Lexi, _and_ for himself.

If Lexi had still wanted to be friends, but only friends, he may have said "yes", but she'd wanted more, then, when she'd been called out, she'd wanted out. They would probably never set eyes on one another again. And whilst that was unfortunate, he wasn't sad. Not anymore. He'd made his choice, Lexi had made hers. He'd moved on. And that was how it went.

Not for Richard, though, he supposed. The guy had all but dumped his kids after their mom's death, and now he was back, playing like he was the world's most lovable dad. Yeah, sure. Good luck to him, Jensen thought. He couldn't say he thought the guy was doing the right thing, but hopefully he would, or Tru and Harrison would dump him right back where he dumped them, on his ass. Maybe they'd get hurt, in the process, but they'd do alright, in the end, because they always still had each other, and they were strong together, as a family. He'd seen that himself. He'd been happy for them. And he didn't hate Richard, not even now, he just thought he was a retched, retched thing. If he did them wrong, he'd be sorry. They wouldn't let him in twice, no matter what. No way.

He hadn't just sat them down and said, "Look, kids, Daddy has some stuff going on in his life that he needs to work out in his own time, and he's gonna need his space to do that, but, you know what, he still loves you all very, very much". No. He'd dumped them for some other woman, as nice as she may be, and had proceeded to more-or-less forget about them. Yeah, they were around. Maybe he even told himself he missed them. But he wasn't around, was he?

Tru was a smart girl. She wouldn't let him mess her around twice. She'd stick up for herself, whether he liked it or not. Maybe he was her dad, but she was human – she counted for something! She was strong. She knew that everyone had to have their own voice, and she had hers. And Jensen trusted her.

He'd have loved to be her friend. It was himself he didn't trust. Not with tonight's performance in mind, that was for sure. He didn't have her strength, whether she believed it or not. He was working on it, but he still had a long way to go. He hoped he got there, personally.

.

Even though he didn't think it would be, it was a surprise to see Tru's sister, Meredith, standing out in the large, expensive hotel's foyer, instead of Tru. He'd been expecting to see her younger sister, almost looking forward to catching up and having a moment or two to explain everything, why he'd stayed so long, the choice he'd decided had to be made, no matter what, but Meredith, Meredith was an entirely different woman. She knew none of that; probably even she was convinced he was insane, and a little bit psychotic. And, in truth, he kind of felt it, looking at her standing there in her shiny yellow evening dress and strappy, black high heels, expecting someone as dashing as he was good-looking.

Wishing he could have been a little more what she was probably consoling herself by telling herself he would be, Jensen could only manage to be his sad, sorry self. He imagined Bea was with a sitter, poor thing, and feeling very much alone and abandoned. Which was probably exactly how Meredith felt, dragged out of her comforting, loving home in the middle of the night by a call from her step-mom with the instruction to dress up in something nice and ritzy and call a cab. He wanted to walk over there and put his arms around her and just hug her, or hold her, but the lost look in her eye stopped him. They didn't know one another, she might feel offended if he did that. Violated, even. He knew the feeling. His parents had been good at making him feel that way, growing up. He didn't envy her.

The redhead by his side – Jordan, she'd said her name was – waved cheerfully to catch Meredith's attention and beckoned the blonde over, seeming not to notice the way her step-daughter's eyes widened and her jaw took on a slightly less severe edge that complimented the shock she was probably experiencing, and immediately launched into a babbling, happy speech about how all of this had come about.

Meredith didn't look comforted. Jensen wanted to reach over and place a hand on her arm comfortingly, but she'd probably only construe the gesture as further proof of his psychotic intentions. He could very well imagine her imagining him laughing to himself gleefully in his head right now, marvelling at how perfectly his devious plan had come together. Maybe it was a touch of the hysteria setting in again, he didn't know, but he definitely didn't want her thinking him some sort of psychopath.

Besides, he couldn't do the raging psychopath look well enough. His eyes just didn't sparkle like that. If he could have, he might have done it, just to make Richard's day. The guy probably thought all of this was pretty funny, and Jensen's just desserts, and a pretty clever way to upset Tru further, but Jensen didn't find it funny. He wished he knew which car was Richard's. He'd have left him a nice little note, if he had. He couldn't give a damn whether the guy thought he was a psychopath or not. If he didn't respect his kids, he was an asshole. And if he didn't know he was one, he needed to be told. For his own sake, as well as anyone else's.

Somehow, Jensen had a feeling the guy knew what he was and wasn't.

Meredith had dispensed of her shell-shock and was now happily playing along with Jordan's plans for her evening. Taking point, Jensen decided not to give away the fact that they'd met before, either, and smiled. Jordan didn't do a double take when she looked at him, so it wasn't quite psychopathically, but it was the best he had. It would have to do.

He tried to look as though he was enjoying himself, if only for her sake. If this had been all her husband's idea, she had no idea who he was. After all, he hadn't seen her at Tru's Christmas Eve party. It had just been Richard, apparently planning on setting Tru's co-workers against her, too, the way he'd been getting along with Jack. Still, he didn't think Jack was that gullible. He might have been good at nodding and smiling when he needed to, but he wasn't a stupid man, either. He thought about things, rather than just taking them for face value.

Jensen didn't quite like Jack, but he thought the guy had a lot of potential. Maybe he didn't quite see it himself, but it was there alright. Maybe one day he'd put his potential to good use with a nice girl. Only time would tell, Jensen supposed, after all, it wasn't all that easy, finding the right girl. A lot of them were nice, but only one of them was the right one. Or so he liked to think. Maybe Jack thought differently...

He refrained from sighing, realising he'd let his thoughts wonder again, and tried to piece together the conversation from the bits and pieces that had filtered through anyway. He was too much like his mother tonight, imagining he knew better what other people needed than they did themselves. He had to cut it out! It wasn't cute.

_This is happening, Jensen, don't zone out. Zoning out's not going to make it go away, it'll just make you look stupid and ruin Meredith's evening even more than it already has been. Don't be an ass; do the right thing, okay. She's a nice woman, don't torture her._

.

Tru smiled, walking over to her bed to lie down. She'd had a nice day today, and that was saying something, because she didn't always have nice days. But today had been one of them, and she was happy it had been. And she was happy Jack had been around to share it with her.

So the walk might have taken it out of him, but she wasn't annoyed at him. She'd actually wanted to give up and turn back herself, at a couple of points, but Jack hadn't complained about it being too much so she'd kept going. It had been nice in the forest, really very calming, and they'd even held hands for a while... until a group of walkers had come past, at least. And before that, they'd been in town, looking at an antique, new and pre-loved bookshop. For a _long_ time! She'd expected Jack to get all grumpy and start acting up, moaning about her weird pastimes and obsessions, but he'd been perfectly hospitable, even if he'd smiled a few times, catching her narrowing her eyes at a particular book, lost in one of its passages.

They hadn't talked about their Callings once, or even started an argument. It felt weird, but good.

Reaching over to pat his hair, she laughed when he opened his eyes and made a face at her for thinking he'd fallen asleep on her.

Sitting forward suddenly, he slipped an arm around her middle and pulled her onto the bed, into his lap, with a squeal. "Don't, don't, don't!" she half-laughed, half-pleaded. "I'm really ticklish!"

He frowned, ruffling up her hair. "What do you think I am? An ogre?"

She smiled, sparkly-eyed, about to tell him exactly what she thought.

He leant closer quickly, and licked her nose, making her squeal and break down in giggles, pointing at him weakly. He... was... weird!

He smiled and stoppered up her giggles with a kiss.

.

Meredith frowned at her reflection in the darkened cab window, wondering why she'd even bothered to do her hair up. It was already breaking out of its confines, sending stands spiralling down to rest against her neck and tickle her shoulders. She tucked the bits she could behind her ear, but the bits she couldn't were really starting to annoy her, tickling her neck like that.

"Have you... O-of course you have," Jensen replied, to his own question, sitting beside her in the back of the taxi.

He looked neat and tidy, Meredith had noticed, back in the foyer, glad that his eyes had been tear-free for once. Though she'd only met him once, in truth. Maybe he'd only done the tearful act thinking she'd rush to the telephone and relay how heartbroken he was to Tru. As if she looked that gullible! Or maybe he was just so used to getting his way with his rich, influential parents that he thought he didn't have to lift a finger for it, it would just happen... sorta like magic.

"Have I what?" she asked, turning away from her scowling reflection and meeting his eyes.

"Have you... taken dinner?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yes, thank you, I have," she replied stiffly. As if she'd have expected Bea to eat something she hadn't given to her, or Aunt Tru or Uncle Harrison had given her. Bea didn't like to eat food given to her by people she didn't know, and Meredith hadn't felt like dragging either of her siblings away from their lives to sit for her tonight. She'd got Bea into bed and tucked in and fast asleep, then she'd called a sitter to look after her for her, to make sure everything was alright whilst she was out. As it turned out, she hadn't been too late for her 'meeting', when she'd finally fronted up. As it was, it was only nine-thirty.

She didn't rightly know where they were going, but that was okay... because she was just about to ask, she told herself. "Where are we going, if I might know?" If he could be poncy, then so could she, and bugger him! He hadn't been so high and mighty that morning!

"I thought you might like... to go dancing..." he told her.

She snorted caustically. "I don't dance, _Mr. Mind Reader!_"

"Well, ah, you don't know if you like it 'til you... try it!" he tried for an enthusiastic tone, but fell short at the end, coming off rather weakly. He wouldn't catch her eye, either. That irked her. Why couldn't he look her in the eye? Was he planning on dropping something a little extra into her drink when she wasn't looking?

She scowled at him. "Let me ask you something, Jensen."

He looked back at her jerkily.

"Did you forget to take your pills?"

"What?"

She huffed, annoyed at his lack of feeling. She could have hurled any number of insults at him and he probably would've said the same thing: What? He sounded like he wasn't all there, an idiot, and idiot's weren't her style. Or her sister's, for that matter.

She glared at him. "What do you want from me, Jensen? What are you hoping for tonight?"

"Nothing." He smiled thinly, debating something with himself silently, for a second. "Actually, I thought... I thought it would be nice if we could all just get along and have a pleasant evening together, that's all. I'm not... looking for... for anything more."

"Really?"

He blinked. "Yes."

"Are you high?"

"No! I... don't think so."

"You don't think so?" she shot incredulously.

"No. No, I haven't taken any stimulants or any other drugs. I... I don't think they'd agree with me at the moment, anyway. They... p-p-probably..." He shook his head. "I'm not high."

"I really hope not," she told him coldly.

He winced, and asked, "How are you?"

"Bored. And pissed," she growled bitterly. "I didn't ask for this... stupid," she gestured around the inside of the cab, "taxi ride! Or for... for you!"

"Yeah," he sighed. He could see where she was coming from. Someone else, anyone else, would have been alright, maybe, depending on how the evening went, but not him. He... just blew everything. He got it. He'd kinda been feeling like that himself a lot lately. "I'm not... socialising material."

She made a face at him. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, as though he was stupid.

He winced. "Driver, could you just-"

She smacked his arm. Hard. "No!" She shook her head. "We are not pulling over. Jordan paid for this!"

He did his best not to look hurt, or offended. Right, getting your money's worth was always a big concern, worthwhile doing. Absolutely.

"Just... just take us back to the hotel, please, driver," Meredith said, and his heart sank.

Yeah, he'd had a feeling it would be like that. She'd rather some friendly company close at hand than being alone with him in a crowd of strangers. Nice.

At the next light, the driver turned around and they headed back to the hotel. Jensen closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.

.

"If you don't mind, I'd like something to drink!" Meredith scowled, grabbing his arm and heading in the direction of the nearest bar. Apparently, she didn't really take what he would and wouldn't mind all that seriously. For instance, he'd have liked her to let go of his arm and quit leading him around like a little kid, but that didn't look to be happening. Big whoop. She apparently couldn't give two hoots what he would mind.

They sat down at the bar and she ordered a double scotch. She didn't order him anything, but that way fine by him, because he didn't really feel like anything. He'd probably have upped and walked out on her, if he had anything to drink. Which she wouldn't like, naturally.

She drank her scotch in one go and ordered a gin and tonic, not even bothering to slide her glance his way for even one second.

"You're not a heavy drinker, are you?" he asked. "Because I wouldn't like to think I was encouraging you back into anything you'd _so successfully_ given up."

It had sounded better in his head, to be honest, but he figured he deserved the simmering glare she shot him as she whipped her head around and practically bared her teeth in his direction. Yeah, he deserved it.

"See, I knew you were one of those girls," he told her. "All bark and no bite. Why, you're practically house-trained! Mind, I did say 'practically'." He didn't know why he didn't just shut up, why he was saying all these horrible things, but he didn't seem to be able to stop. _Bad machine!_ he reprimanded himself. _Abort! Abort!_ For some reason, he suddenly felt like laughing. He settled for a smile instead.

Shooting death rays out of her eyes, Meredith slipped off her barstool and lunged at him, grabbing his arm roughly and yanking him off his seat. "You're coming with me!" she growled, in no uncertain terms.

He almost drawled, _I think someone's forgotten who the master is here, and who's the pet_, but caught himself in the nick of time. What was wrong with him? He just _didn__'__t_ say things like that? Something had to be wrong. Seriously wrong. He never rose to the bait. Never! He'd always just... let it go, somehow.

His heart pounded painfully in his chest. Except for tonight. Tonight, he'd decided to take a stand, he reminded himself. All of a sudden, he didn't like the looks of this new Jensen... or this old, truthfully Jensen. It hurt to think he'd really been this... disgusting person underneath! And he didn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. It was something else. Had to be.

He _wasn__'__t_ like this.

He was uncomfortable and he was suddenly acting out one his mother's brattish antics. He couldn't believe it. He'd never felt more betrayed in his life!

_You're Goddamn unbelievable, Jensen! Absolutely unbelievable! Say something, for God sake! Apologise to the woman! NOW!_

"Meredith! Meredith!" He tried to reach for her arm, to stop her for a moment.

"Shut your mouth and keep walking!" she growled. "I don't feel like talking to you right now."

He didn't say another word.

.

She'd taken him to a room she seemed to have had a key for, though he didn't know how, or when she'd asked for it, or even paid for it – it occurred to him that perhaps Jordan had given it to her, when he'd conveniently been off with the pixies – and, oh, yes, they were alone.

And she was glaring at him.

He swallowed any thoughts of whimpering and backing away, cringing. He'd put her in this foul mood, now he had to deal with it. So he would. "Meredith," he gulped in a lungful of hotel room air, "I don't know what came over me. I'm terribly sor-" He cut short what he'd been about to say, and winced.

Meredith was already unzipping her evening dress, glaring at him as though she meant for him to catch fire. Well, although, probably not before... she'd got her money's worth...

"N-n- No! No! Don't do that!" He rushed forward, putting out his hands and settling them over hers, stilling them. "You don't have to do that," he told her, his eyes wide. "I... I can... I have money..." Something clicked into place in his mind. "Oh... Oh... Y- You want m-m-me... Please, please, no! I... I'm not... You heard me, back there in the bar! I'm an awful, a terrible... Whatever it is you want of me," he burst out, "I'm bad at it! When I was five, I nearly ruined my parents' marriage! I don't... I can't..." Tears welled in his eyes as he searched desperately for the words to go on, to make her understand.

"Well, get used to it!" she snapped, hastily pushing down the straps of her evening dress and letting it fall to the floor.

He looked away automatically, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. Maybe now was a good time to employ the whimper and cringe. She was a mother, she'd... she'd treat him right, if he... if he showed her he wasn't ready, right?

"You're not going anywhere!" Meredith told him, suddenly seizing his chin in her hand and turning his face to hers. "Your parents want you put back into line, and I intend to do just that!"

"No, they don't!" he pleaded pathetically. "This is supposed to be _your_ night, Meredith! And you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, I promise!"

She smiled at him, her eyes watching his every movement, like a predator. "Well maybe I want to!"

.

"What's the matter," she growled, "you don't like girls? Well, woulda been nice if you'd mentioned that to my little sister, don't ya think? Oops. Oh well. Too late. That little oversight's gonna cost ya!"

"Meredith," he tried reaching for her cheek, just to touch it, to remind her that he was a human being, too.

She slapped his hand away, scowling at him. "Seriously, I was kidding! Tru was really hung up on you! You can't seriously be telling me you lied to her and let her think she had a chance with you all that time when, really, you were bullshitting her! What kind of a piece of work, are you, Mr. Ritchie?"

"No! No, I am attracted to women... just... I just... like to get to know them first."

"Uh-huh."

"It's the alcohol talking," he whispered. "You're a gentle, sweet person, Meredith. I can tell."

"You're lying through your teeth, Jensen!"

"I'm sorry."

"Nope. You're not sorry."

"I am."

"You're still lying."

A tear ran down his cheek. "Please! I'll do it. Just don't... force me." He felt like a loser and he probably sounded like one, too, but he didn't know what else to say. He should have expected something like this. His mother had been smiling at him a little too much all evening. He just couldn't believe they'd been able to talk Meredith into going along with their crazy, little scheme. What had they done? Threatened to take Bea off her and shove the kid back into the foster system? Oh, _God_!

He put a hand over his mouth, suddenly hyperventilating. He felt terribly sick and he couldn't make himself stop crying. "I can help you," he whispered, between a hiccupy sob. "Please, you don't have to do this, Meredith. And they can't make you!"

"Like Hell they can't!" she growled, her eyes like sharp flint, digging into his eyes, into his skull. "Let's just shut up and do this, okay! No fuss, no fight. Let's just get it over with."

He shook his head sharply, dislodging tears along the way. "Jordan's a good woman. She wouldn't condone this!"

"Aw, that's cute of you to say so, I'm sure – but Jordan doesn't know so much!" Meredith growled. "Richard kills people, and nobody ever finds the bodies! Does that sink into your stupid, little head, _Jensen_? Stupid, little boy!"

He hiccuped. "This isn't the end of it, is it? It's just the beginning."

She laughed, her eyes flashing menacingly. "What do you think, toots? Does this look like the end to you?"

He brushed at one of his cheeks, placing a hand on her upper arm gently. "If... if it's not, let's make a proper go of it... Hmm? What... do you say? I'm not a bad... a bad person... I'm just crazy... at times..."

She dropped her shoulders along with the glare in her eyes, and reached over and patted his back. "You're a child. I can't believe Tru fell for you." She shook her head, still patting his back, thinking it might help with the hiccups.

"I'm not a child, Meredith," he said, hiccuping. "Children don't say things like I said to you back in the bar."

She snorted. "Well, I guess you don't know many children then, do you? Haven't got much of a memory, either, I take it."

"I had a private tutor. I was home-schooled... until high school."

"Oh! Nice to know," she cooed, as though she could give a damn. Clearly, sarcastically.

She stopped patting his back and grabbed his chin again, her eyes hardening as he watched. "Time to toughen up, Jensen! I don't want to rush you, but I'm standing here in my panties," she gave her underwear a little snap for emphasis, "and I'm getting kinda cold. Warm me up, will you?"

.

They sat down on the bed together, at the very end, and he brushed a hand over her shoulder, not yet ready to meet her eyes. He felt completely sick about the whole thing, yet, he saw what she was saying. Her dad was a hot shot lawyer, and now, apparently, he had people bumped off without a word... or a scream. And he really had Meredith scared. Not that Jensen was surprised, just pissed off that the guy would set something up like that... involving his own daughter!

He closed his eyes and leant in closer, pressing a kiss to Meredith's quite cool shoulder. The spaghetti straps hadn't done much to keep her arms warm, they'd just left a trace of a red mark on her shoulder where they'd once rested. He frowned and rubbed his thumb over the mark, trying to help her circulation along.

"I bruise easily," Meredith told him, with the tiniest hint of amusement in her voice.

He stilled his hand, noticing, for the first time, a bruise on her thigh.

She glanced at it dubiously, and shrugged. "I bumped into the corner of the table. The phone was ringing, I had to really move. Whatever."

He frowned, tilting his head to catch her eye. "I..."

"You what?" she bit off, holding back a catch in her throat.

"I'm sorry we got off to such a terrible start," he finished.

"Hhh!" She didn't smile. She met his eyes. "Kiss me. Make up for it. I'm easy, once you get to know me."

He looked a bit sad, but smiled anyway. "I think you're... you're a good person."

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "Well, anything's better than 'you're beautiful', I guess."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong because she _was_ beautiful, but she'd probably whop him upside the head, if he did that, and think him a stinking jerk. It was bad enough the way it was, with her thinking whatever she thought of him right now.

He lifted her chin with his hand and looked into her eyes. "Okay, hate me or don't hate me, but I've gotta just say it: You are beautiful. You're a beautiful person. It just takes the right person to notice it, inside. To feel it, in his soul, and know how beautiful, how special you really are. How special your soul is! Your heart! Don't, don't you go thinking otherwise, Meredith. Just don't. Because it's... it's not true. Just because someone can't be bothered looking deeply enough doesn't make it true. And I looked, and I saw it – and if I can do it-! Shit, I'm an idiot child! If I can do it, so can anyone else!"

Her bottom lip wobbled and she bit down on it to make it stop. "You're not an idiot," she told him, "you just don't take instruction well. Now please, kiss me."

His heart was a little glad, when she said that, and he leant closer and did as she'd said, and kissed her.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Note:<span>** Gah! When I get in my unfathomable, random shipper mode, you can't stop me! I have tried, I have tried! It doesn't pan out. I just went with it. *shrugs* Now please tell me I'm insane, or something!

Mwah-ha-hah! Jordan, you can't help them! Sorry. :( I will now go back to cleaning... :( :(


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** So this one's gonna be weird. Additional disclaimer: I don't own the following songs: "Go Mad" by Caleb Kane; "I'm a Human Being", "Music in My Soul", "What If I'm Right", and "Saturday Night" by Sandi Thom. Their music and lyrics are not mine, but their respective owners'.

* * *

><p>Meredith sat perched on the end of the bed, not looking at much, eating ice cream from a small, individual tub. She never ate ice cream. She hadn't done since her mother's death, more than a decade ago. She didn't know why she was now. Maybe she missed Bea – yeah, she did – maybe a part of her felt like a traitor – actually, it did – and maybe she'd just wanted ice cream. At least her ice cream couldn't scream at her and accuse her of sleeping with her boyfriend, of moving in for the fast kill when they'd been going through a rough patch.<p>

No, she didn't actually think Tru would do that. But Meredith kind of felt like she'd have preferred if she did, she'd have felt better for the put down, the shame, out there in the open, at last. She hated what she'd done, and, most of all, that she actually hadn't hated it all that much, in the end. She hadn't been with a guy in ages, and being with Jensen had made her feel... just something. Like she was a real person again.

She knew it sounded stupid. It sounded stupid in her head, and it would have sounded just as stupid if she'd articulated her thought aloud, but it was, nevertheless, the truth. No, she hadn't been looking for all of this trouble or the horror – that her father could just use people like that, just to get back at her dead mom, whom Tru so reminded him of, and damn her! Just damn her – but he would never know that, if she could help it. She wouldn't give him the damn satisfaction. He was a creep and she felt suddenly so very bad, and entirely disgusted at herself for all the times she'd accused poor Harry of being one. Harrison had nothing on their father; Harry was cute, in his own way, endearing. Shit, he was her little brother. And he would _never_ do something like this, not even out of revenge.

She wanted to... to do something crazy! To bang her head up against the door, or something. Anything. She was so stupid, sometimes. She'd been so, so bad. So bad, to look at the only people who even loved her – despite her faults – with such anger and misguided, tainted judgement. She wanted to drop her face into her hands and just let the tears fall, but if her father was watching this somehow, that'd only make him smile, and he didn't deserve the sick pleasure.

She'd told Tru and Harry to give the guy a chance, for the love of God! And now this. How could she ever tell them the truth about their dad? How could she ever so much as breathe a word of this? She'd die of the shame of it, of the sheer betrayal. And she could just _see_ Harrison hitting the roof. He'd probably quit his job and never speak to their father again, and that was only if he was in an exceptionally forgiving mood. If not, who knew what he'd do. He'd be pissed as Hell, that was a given. And he'd want to send Richard a lesson – never to try and pull this kind of shit again, on her, on him, on Tru, or anyone else! He'd worrying about Jordan and Claire and Oliver, that they could be at risk somehow, not that Meredith would blame him. He'd sleep less and take on a guarded expression against the world, much like Tru.

With a lump in her throat, Meredith realised she couldn't do it. She just couldn't hurt her siblings like that. Yeah, she'd keep her mouth shut, but it wasn't for Richard's sake. There was little wonder in her mind why her mom had wanted to divorce him. The guy was insane.

Finishing her ice cream, she went to dump the empty packet in the bin and washed the spoon at the bathroom basin, splashing some cold water on her face to hopefully settle her nerves a bit. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she thought she looked like shit. Only a man would have told her she looked beautiful, only a man with half of his mind missing. Or on other things, like getting laid, she thought to herself darkly and snorted.

Sadly, as nice as he could be, at times, she had a suspicion that Jensen was cracked, too. Shit, his parents had to be! No way were they that desperate for grand kids. Or for him to hook up with one of Richard's kids. Richard might have been a big name in some circles, but he was also known for being hard to impress, and even harder to hold on to. In other words, he didn't stick around for nothing. He didn't even stick around for family, as she, herself, knew first hand.

Jensen's parents were nuts, thinking they could start some kind of partnership between their families this way. It wasn't though they'd picked on Claire; not that she was anywhere old enough for it. If she even looked at a boy out of the corner of her eye, Meredith could wholly imagine Richard fuming about it for the rest of the day, pissed that his kid wasn't in love with him, along with the rest of the world.

No wonder she'd turned out such a selfish bitch, she thought. She'd missed her dad, so she'd stupidly become just like him, thinking she was _such_ a rebel. Well, she'd just have to go on missing him, she told herself, 'cause this guy wasn't fit to be anyone's dad. And now that she thought about it, she wouldn't be inviting him to Bea's birthday, either. What, so he could get a foothold in her life, too, with a view to messing it up and making her as miserable as he was? No fucking way! Jordan was welcome. Even Claire and Oliver, come to that. But Richard could just stay the Hell away! _Far_ away!

Returning to the bedroom, she sat back down on the end of the bed, sighing quietly. Jensen wasn't really a fighter, it was obvious. He'd gone right to sleep. She wasn't mad at him for it, it just made her realise that having a man wouldn't automatically mean she could offload all of her shit onto him and expect him to miraculously, magically make it all better. He was only human, too. She didn't think it would be worth it to even try.

If they were going to start something, some sort of relationship, she'd have enough on her plate without asking for more, without the extra strain she'd be causing by dumping such a heavy load on someone else's shoulders and wiping her hands of it. Maybe the old Meredith had been able to do things like that with ease, but she had changed. She wasn't that person anymore. She was more.

More considerate, she liked to joke with herself. More forgiving. More loving. More... human. The thought was a nice one, at least.

She swallowed a sigh, and glanced at Jensen's face. His hair had gone all messy and all over the place, but she was glad to see he didn't scowl in his sleep. That would make one of them, she supposed. Actually, she _was_ happy.

She missed Bea, but she wasn't quite ready to tear her hair out just yet. She bent over and pressed a small kiss to Jensen's ankle. "You don't look mad when you're asleep," she murmured, wishing she could just lie down and go to sleep too, but she had things to do. She had to get back home, back to her daughter. "You sleep well," she told him, standing up. It was time to collect her things, get dressed, and go home. Her child needed her, and maybe that didn't mean much to her father, but it did to her!

Getting dressed, she walked to the bathroom to straighten her hair and blink back tears, whispering quietly to the mirror, "I'm sorry, Tru!"

.

Carrie couldn't sleep. Crazy though it sounded, she was worried about Jack. If he'd had a middle name, she bet it would have been Trouble. Plus, she was worried about Tru, too... a little. Heck, the girl was Davis's friend. Of course she was worried... about her boyfriend's friend!

She reached for her phone and slipped out of bed carefully, padding quietly to the kitchen. She'd have gone to the bathroom, but she was hungry, all of a sudden, and the kitchen seemed like the place to go to score some food. Frowning into the refrigerator, she picked out a packet of dip – hommus – and closed the door, looking in the cupboards for some crackers. She'd have had an apple or a pear, but her teeth were kind of on edge.

She took a seat at the kitchen table and flipped open her cell phone, punching in Jack's number. It was... just gone two o'clock. He'd probably still be up... watching crazy-insane, inane infomercials or something, if the place had a TV, where he'd gone. Anyway, if it hadn't, he'd have mentioned it beforehand. She'd know about it.

She nibbled on the corner of a cracker, waiting for the call to pick up. _Ugh! The infomercials can't be that interesting! Not to mention, racy! Unless of course you're referring to their amazing ability to have you racing out the door._ She pulled a face, irritated. _Pick up the phone, Jack. People are worried about you. Stupid ones, like _moi_. Don't ask me why, either. Oh, come on! Phone! Tell me you so aren't gawking at Tru in her tiny lingerie?_ She snickered to herself. She bet Tru didn't even own any tiny lingerie. She'd have to buy her some, just to piss Jack off.

"Yeah? What?" He sounded sleepy.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No, you didn't. I'm sure that was just my phone."

She bit back a laugh. So basically, yeah. She _had_ woken him up. "You're supposed to be watching Tru," she reminded him.

He choked. "Don't I get to sleep?"

"No!"

"Sure, I'm just a machine. What would a machine need sleep for, anyway?"

"Shut up. That's not what I mean. You have my apologies. I'm just in a bitchy mood today. Maybe because I've been waiting for you to call and check in with me – _all_ day!" She snapped her fingers. "So, _update_! Hit me! What's the latest?"

"I have a headache," he muttered.

"Boo-hoo. Maybe Tru can make you a nice, warm cup of tea."

"Nah. She's asleep."

"God, Harrison, you _stalker_!"

"What, I'm not allowed to say 'nah' now?"

"Absolutely not! You're nothing like Harrison. When do I ever see you smiling? Or have you been secretly holding out on me?"

"You're paranoid," he replied.

She laughed. "Oh, I was meaning to ask, before I forget: Tru doesn't wear skimpy lingerie, does she? I was thinking maybe I could buy her some."

"Stalker much, Carrie? And how should I know what kind of lingerie she wears?"

"You said she was sleeping. Go break into her room and check it out. Maybe-"

"Just stop!"

"What? You won't even hear me out," she complained.

He laughed. "With good reason, mind you."

She rolled her eyes. "Chicks get other chicks lingerie all the time. It's a sign of friendship. Like they're saying, 'I wish you well in the relationship department, and here's a little something to keep his eyes on you, and not your room-mate!' You want us to be friends, don't you, Jack? Help a girl out here!"

"Uh-uh!"

"Squeamish!" she teased.

"Oh, shit yeah!"

She snorted. "You're not supposed to agree with me, you big baby!"

"Sorry, but I'm just not Carrie-crazy. And I don't have a particularly strong death wish, either, now that I think of it. Maybe you can invite her over to yours for a sleepover one night and try that one out?"

Carrie coughed. "Kinky! Does Tru know you have a dirty mind? She might _like __it_!"

"I'm hanging up now," Jack told her.

"Ring me tomorrow or I'll find wherever it is you live and trash the place!" she told him quickly, before the line went dead. She sighed, putting her phone down on the table. Well, she couldn't always expected to be perfect. And she was hungry, damn it! Still, she was glad to hear the idiot was okay and hadn't found a way to get himself offed.

"Get her Victoria's Secret," she mumbled to herself. "You can't go wrong with Victoria's Secret."

"Carrie? Who were you talking to?" Davis asked faintly from the kitchen door.

Carrie nearly dropped the cracker she was eating and looked at him quickly, her eyes wide. "Lacy," she replied, just as faintly.

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Oh."

She stood up and walked over to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

"Is Lacy a..."

"A friend from work," Carrie answered. "Crazy, crazy woman! But I like her. I think she's funny."

"Yeah..."

"Mind you, crazy or no, it is a little late to be calling. You're absolutely right."

"No, I don't mind," he told her. "If it's a friend."

She stopped hugging him. "As opposed to?"

He frowned, suddenly seeming to wake up. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "Forget it."

"No, I really want to know. You sounded upset, like I'd said something wrong. I'd like to know, if I did, so I can apologise," he told her.

She made a face. She didn't want or _need_ this. Not now, at two in the morning. "As opposed to an ex-boyfriend," she replied.

"Oh, Carrie, do you really think I'd be mad at you over something like that? And if you were friends..." He fell short, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She wanted to shrug it off. He wasn't acting boyfriendy. She missed the boyfriendy Davis. She didn't want this Davis, the Davis who said something and then wouldn't meet her eye afterward, or who thought touching her shoulder was consoling, as though there was something wrong with her face! She suddenly wanted to cry, or puke.

She stomped out of the room, forgetting all about the crackers and dip on the table, only snapping back, "I'm going to bed!", as an after thought.

Davis frowned at the food sitting on the table. She was hungry all the time, it seemed. He wondered about that. Was she sick? He walked over to put it back wherever it had come from, but his eyes strayed to her cell phone. It looked cold and quiet, so innocuous, sitting there on his kitchen table. She wouldn't know if he looked at it, just quickly, would she? Just so he could look up this 'crazy, crazy' friend of hers, just quietly, and make sure she was okay, and wasn't _really_ crazy? That wouldn't really be such a bad thing, would it?

He sat down in the chair Carrie had just left, glancing around at the door silently, and reached for the phone.

.

"Your phone's ringing again," Tru murmured, pushing back a heavy sigh. "You must be a pretty popular guy."

"No, that's your phone," Jack replied, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if she was mad at him for leaving to talk to whoever it had been who'd rung him – Carrie, though she didn't know that.

She groaned and sat up, slipping out of bed and digging around under the bed for a moment before she finally got her hands on the thing. She sighed and flipped it open. "Tru here, who is really one of the undead and looks fabulous any time, day or night, without the need of sleep! What? Davis? Wait a moment..." She stood up, making for the bathroom.

Jack frowned after her, glad she couldn't see his expression in the dark, but leaned over and switched the lamp on anyway, quickly putting away his frown. He wouldn't want her pitching over something in the dark and hurting herself.

"Thanks," she said quietly, slipping out of the room and closing the door after her. She took a seat on the edge of the bathtub in the bathroom and sighed again. "Sorry about that. I, ah, had some company."

"Oh."

"Friendly company." She laughed. "Oh, God, what am I saying? I'm an idiot."

"No, that's alright. You're not an idiot. You... could never be an idiot, Tru. I know it's late, and I'm sorry for calling like this, but..."

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, again, but I'm going to have to say 'no'. It's not. Everything's not alright." He sounded so sad that Tru felt sad too. If he hadn't been so far away, she'd have got up, got dressed, and gone over there and given him a big, squishy hug. And then made scowly eyes at Carrie for not doing so beforehand.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" She wanted to slap herself for talking to him like he was a baby, but she didn't know how else to ask. She couldn't just fire questions at him, he was upset, and he was her friend.

"It's Carrie," he replied.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no! You guys haven't broken up, have you?" She waited for him to elaborate, reserving judgement 'til after she knew what had happened.

"No. We haven't broken up. It's..."

Tru refrained from making any wild guesses like You're getting married!, or You're moving in together! They had practically moved in together, anyway, even though they'd both kept their own places. The getting married thing didn't seem likely, though, given that Davis sounded like he'd been run over by a couple of trains as opposed to... happy!

"I... I came into the kitchen a couple of moments ago to see why Carrie was up, well, longer than that, but that's not the issue. The issue is, when I asked who she'd been talking to, she lied and said it was a friend from work. L- It doesn't matter what her name is, really, because she's probably not even real."

"I'm sorry," Tru told him sadly, wanting to slap that woman for being so... mean! She didn't know why some women thought they could just treat Davis as though he wasn't really real, but she hated it. Whenever he told her another one of his horror stories about it, or he downplayed it the way he often did, she felt like the world's biggest tool, just for being a woman! And that was so unfair, because women weren't the enemy, they were just people, too, just like guys were, and it really irked her when stuff like that happened. She just didn't like prejudice in any of its forms; it was petty and mean. She hadn't thought Carrie would be one of those women, but then, apparently she was.

"No! No, she's not cheating on me, Tru!" Davis said. "She was talking to Jack!"

"Jack who?" Tru asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. "The way I remember it, she doesn't have any brothers named Jack, so this guy could be her-"

"Tru! Jack! Your... nemesis, Jack!"

"She's messing around behind your back with Jack!" she practically shouted. "Oh, I am going to kill him!" She jumped to her feet, already halfway to the door when she realised Davis didn't know who her company was, and suddenly she didn't feel so keen on letting him in on her little secret, either. She glared daggers at the door and dropped her head, staring at her bare feet. Stupid Tru. Stupid, stupid Tru. She was a stupid idiot. Stupid woman.

Of course it was her Jack! _That_ Jack! Carrie was a sophisticated woman, Jack was just her type. It couldn't have been more obvious. She had to be the world's biggest idiot or something.

"Tru, I don't think they're romantically involved," Davis pressed on. "I think... it's worse than that."

Worse! She glared at her feet to keep from yelling or laughing. Or crying. She was such an idiot!

"I think she's... she's on Jack's side. She's working for him, telling him things about us."

Tru's eyes widened and her head shot up, her gaze flying to the door once more. "Hang up right now, Davis. Carrie can't know she's compromised. We'll talk about this more tomorrow."

"No. We don't have to... You'll miss out on your getaway."

"Stuff that! This is more important. And you're my friend, and you need me. So I'll be home tomorrow, and... sadly, I will be refraining from ripping that... _woman__'__s_ hair out!" She forced herself to take a calmer, softer tone. "Just... be safe, okay, Davis. I'll be back soon. Good night."

"Good night, Tru," he said, before the call cut off.

Tru snapped her phone shut, stalking to the door and ripping it open, her eyes dark and angry. She walked into the bedroom and right up to Jack and glared at him hatefully. "You bastard! You've got Carrie on your side and now Davis knows and you've ruined everything! You idiot," she cried, "I hate you!" That wasn't strictly the truth, but she wasn't about to tell Jack that. She put a hand over her mouth and stared at him, willing him to say something. Yell at her like she'd yelled at him, or something. She couldn't even glare at him properly, her eyes wanted to go all cry-y on her and muck up her perfectly good moment of anger.

"Oops," he said, finally. "But you can't blame me for that. That's Carrie's oversight." He shook his head. "Nobody's perfect, I guess. Not even Carrie."

Tru stared at him, genuinely at a loss for words. He was Goddamn insane!

"I'm sorry," he replied. "I know you thought Carrie was on your side, but... Did you ask her? She's not... She's not on your side, Tru. She doesn't agree with you helping people who were meant to die."

Tears bubbled up in Tru's eyes, stupidly, and she bit back a sob with a deep, unsteady breath. "I hate you! You can't just take Carrie away from Davis like that! He's a good person!"

Jack shook his head at her accusation. "And I'm not taking her away from him. I'm doing nothing of the sort. Do you see me there, dragging her away from him? No! Because that's... that's ridiculous! Yes, I might have instigated that they get together, but I never... I didn't do this, Tru. Shit happens, what can I say? You know what it's like! I can't just... let it go, Tru! I can't! You believe in what you believe in, and I believe in what I believe in! So maybe Carrie was dishonest, yes, disingenuous, even, but she's as much entitled to her beliefs as you or I are."

"She – and you! – are _horrible_ people! I can't believe I ever-! I'm an idiot!" She shook her head, scattering tears across her cheeks.

"Tru, I'm sorry," he told her, catching her eye. "I'm sorry, because... I like you. I'm not messing you around, or playing you for a fool. I do like you. But now... it looks like that's over." He grimaced, not all that pleased.

Tru punched him in the arm, but she didn't really mean it. It didn't even hurt. He almost wished it had. "Oh, ha-ha!" she sobbed. "Like I believe you, with those impeccable, stupid, lying eyes! You don't even _look_ hurt!"

"Spooky, huh?"

She stared at him like he was mad, tears pouring down her cheeks without her bothering to wipe them away.

Jack looked away from her. He was angry, and sad, but that was that, he couldn't unmake what had happened happen, he couldn't fix this, not this time, so he figured he just had to let it go. He wasn't remitting. No way in the world! He was doing the right thing and he knew it. No doubt in his mind. So she was a fine girl, that was the truth, but she asked too much. She asked him to give up _his_ Calling, yet expected to be able to go on and do whatever she jolly well liked with her own. He wasn't going to do that. His Calling wasn't just a job to him, it was a career! It was everything he stood for, and he couldn't back down, no matter what. Not even for a fine girl.

"Look, Care was worried about you. She said she'd heard that someone was going to try and hurt you, and she felt it in our best interest to keep you alive and well. I wasn't really into the whole idea, but I let myself be persuaded. I mean, it wasn't hard. You can imagine. You're a pretty... cute girl, Tru. She's not a bad person. She's just had her fair share of knocks and never agains and she's learnt to use whatever she can to her best advantage. She would never hurt Davis physically and she would never hurt you. You can believe that. She didn't kill her husband, it was _just_ an accident. Tru, look-"

"Shut up," she told him blankly, her face suddenly expressionless.

It frightened him a little to see her looking like that, to see her eyes looking so empty, it worried him that she might do something foolish, like hurt herself, because hurting others wasn't her flavour. She wasn't her dad, and she never would be. Not ever. It worried him, and hurt him, but he couldn't do anything about it. It was time to step back now. He'd given her fair warning; he'd told her about her father's alleged plot to harm her. She couldn't ask any more of him.

He resisted the urge to run a hand over his face to reach over to touch her hair, and said, "That's it for me, Tru. I won't say any more. Go on, take a hit. The ball is in your court."

But she didn't say anything. She took a huge, albeit shaky breathe, and wiped at her cheeks. Then she stepped closer and rested her hands on his chest, pushing him back onto the bed and settling herself over him, a couple of tears escaping her eyes and falling onto his face. "Life isn't that easy," she scowled, and sealed her lips to his.

He really couldn't be bothered arguing, and he really didn't _want_ to, so he just slipped his arm around her waist and let her go.

.

The morning sunlight felt too hot. He'd been perfectly happily sleeping, but he couldn't take that sun on his face any longer. It made the room too stuffy, and he was suddenly thirsty. He opened his eyes and saw that he was the only one in bed, in the whole room, actually. That got his attention like a snap. He was suddenly wide awake and already heading for the door, his heart sinking along the way. If Tru had taken the car and driven off, well, it would be inconvenient for him, that was one way of putting it.

The car was still there. He frowned, not sure he was following, this time. He'd thought for sure she'd ditched him. She'd surely told Davis she'd be returning home as soon as possible, yet... He looked around, then walked back into the cottage.

Her stuff was packed and ready to go... but it was just sitting there, and Tru wasn't.

He frowned.

It took a moment for him to remember the guy at the book store the other day. The guy who'd asked Tru out even though he'd seen them together. He had a boat, he'd said; they could hang out, check out the lake, or whatever. It was going to be a good day for it, as he'd heard it.

He looked up suddenly, his eyes scanning the part of the lake closest to the cottage, the part he could easily see. He couldn't see any boats. In fact, it was pretty calm. The guy had been right; it was a perfect day for it. Blue skies, not a cloud in sight... But the lake was big. Huge. And the part immediately visible from the cottage was only the tip of the iceberg. Tru could had stormed off and decided she'd go see this guy, try and relax a little before heading home. She could still be in danger!

He was just pulling the car door shut after him when his phone started ringing, bringing a glare to his face. Carrie! It had to be! He didn't have time for this! God, the woman could be so God-damned annoying when she wanted to be. He flipped open his phone and snapped, "What?"

It was definitely Carrie. "She can't swim, Jack. I was wrong..." She sounded upset, as though it was hard to talk, as though she would have preferred just to be left alone to cry. "I..." She took a gulp of air. "He doesn't want to kill her, he wants to _cure_ her! He thinks... if she dies and comes back, she'll... she'll be cured! The Calling will pass on to someone else! But... but... I don't like..." She hiccuped. "H-help me! I don't like it."

"I'm right with you, Care," he told her. "I was just about to head off there myself." Not that he had the slightest clue where 'there' was.

Carrie mumbled a name he'd only ever read on a sign before – headed out of town, towards the lake – and hung up. He was already leaving the cottage behind when he remembered. Yeah, Carrie had good reason not to like it. Her husband had drowned, hadn't he? Aaron. That had been the guy's name. Aaron.

He knew he'd had good reason to dislike the guy. A very damn good reason. Tru!

.

"You're crying."

Carrie brushed at her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "No. No, I'm fine!" She couldn't quite hide the glimmer of tears in her voice, though.

Davis knelt down on the bathroom floor beside her, having great difficulty not simply reaching over and picking up her hand and holding onto it. "You don't have to talk about it," he told her, though he really did want to talk about it. He just wanted to get the inevitable confrontation over as quickly as possible and... and go back to feeling morose and hurt, all alone. Well, until Tru arrived, that was.

Carrie shook her head, taking great shuddery breaths, trying her damnedest to calm herself down, though it hadn't been all that successful so far. "I don't," she half-sobbed. "I'm sorry. I sound like I'm falling apart, and I must just look terrible." She pressed a palm against the cold tile of the bathroom floor. "I'm sorry," she sobbed again.

"Can I help?" he asked, trying to catch her eye.

She wasn't up for meeting his gaze. She continued to take great, gaspy sip of air, shuddering bodily ever so often. Her chest was heaving as though she'd run a mile.

He frowned. "Carrie, please tell me what's wrong. I'm sure we can work this out if we just... try."

She lifted her face from the floor suddenly, her eyes going very round. "I think I'm pregnant," she told him plainly.

The next second, a loud slap had rung out through the gleaming, tiled room and his hand hurt. He imagined Carrie's face hurt, too. His ears were ringing and he couldn't quite process the fact that he'd slapped her. And then the tingling in his palm grew stronger, so that it felt as though he was being attacked by needles, hundreds of them, and the quiet, hard rage he'd felt a split second earlier returned, raging, boiling to the surface. Only, this time, he didn't strike out. He hated himself for hitting her, for raising a hand to a woman. He let the anger burn inside of him, let it _hurt_ him. Tears stung in his eyes, but he made no move to stop them. They sploshed down onto the tiled floor and stayed there.

At first, Carrie was perfectly silent. She didn't even move. Then, slowly, she couldn't help it, she couldn't hold her sobs in any longer, and she started to cry.

.

Jack swerved, nearly driving off the road and piling up on some trees, before he got a handle of the car and himself and swung back onto the road, his heart thumping in his chest – bang, bang, bang! – doing nothing for his slowly obliterating nerves. With the distinct impression of being slapped – hard – he hit the gas and sped up, the speed restrictions be damned! No one hurt his woman! Bloody no one!

_Come on, baby. You fight! Don't let him win. I know you're strong. Show him what he's up against! I'm trying, but I can only go as fast as I can go. Wait for me, okay. Don't do anything stupid like dying on me. I'll be there. Just wait!_

.

"I'm sorry," Carrie whispered through her tears, her voice catching and wobbling dangerously. "I never meant to hurt you. I was such an idiot! Storming off last night and leaving my phone in full sight." She laughed bitterly. "We're not... we're not involved like that. I don't even... think of Jack that way. He's like a brother to me. I was worried about him. I'm sorry. You know how it is. Blood is always thicker than water. Even if Jack isn't my brother, I feel like he is. To me, he's my brother. He'll be so mad when he finds out I've ruined it all. He'll look at me like I'm an idiot woman who can't do anything right. Or he won't, and it'll be worse! Because then he'll be hurt, he'll feel let down, the way you do now. The way I do. And I won't be able to make it better. Nothing I do or say will be able to make it better."

She started to rock back and forth, quiet, for a long while. If she was crying underneath that mat of dark hair obscuring her pale face, she was crying silently.

Davis couldn't say anything. The anger was still there, but the hurt was just as bad. The hurt at knowing he'd hurt _her_, hurt another human being. He didn't trust himself to speak. He didn't even trust himself to move. To get up and walk away. What if he came back? What if he hurt her again?

He couldn't take the chance.

"I'm sorry... if you think I said what I said in the hopes that you'd relent, that you'd leave me alone, for a while," Carrie whispered again, seemingly unable to raise her voice, to speak any louder. "That... isn't true. That's not why I said it. I said it because... because I think it's true. I think I am..." She couldn't bring herself to say the word, not now. "But that's not why I was crying. I'm not... what you think I am..." she sobbed.

"A betrayer? You're not a betrayer!" he hissed, finally unable to stay silent, to keep from speaking. "Oh, but Carrie, I beg to differ! I think that is _exactly_ what-you-are!"

She choked on a sob, and coughed. "You've misunders-... misunderstood my words," she replied, her voice now steadier, stronger. "I did betray you, Davis, but you _let_ me! You told me about Tru's ability, and I'm not... I'm not knocking you, I'm telling you the facts! You told me, and you let me pretend as though I agreed with what the two of you are doing. You didn't press me for my opinion. I waited. With dread eating me up inside, but I waited!" Tears misted up her eyes once more. "And you never asked, Davis! You never _asked_!"

She took a gulping breath. "What I mean... what I mean to say is, what I _meant_ to say earlier, was that I'm not like you. I'm different, too. Like Jack and Tru. I have..." it was a struggle to get the words out, but she eventually did, "an ability." She couldn't keep back a sob, then, and lifted her hands suddenly, palms out. "I think you'll probably think the worst of me for it, but I'm telling you now, I'll be hurting too. More than you can possibly know."

She straightened up now, and all rocking back and forth ceased. She didn't quite brush the hair from her eyes, but most of it had gone, anyway, fallen away, back to her shoulders when she'd sat up, no longer hunching down as she'd been before. Her bottom lip quivered but she didn't take her eyes from Davis's. "I'm an empath, after a fashion, and I'm afraid that something bad may happen," she told him straight. "I have a _feeling_ that something bad is going to happen, if nothing is done to prevent it, and that was why I was crying." The strong expression she'd been fighting so hard to maintain finally cracked and broke down, leaving her face sad and alone. "I never had a feeling you'd hit me."

She choked and her eyes widened helplessly. "Ja... Jack!"

With horrified eyes, Davis watched as her eyes rolled to the top of her head and she slumped, finally collapsing on the floor, silent. Perfectly silent.

.

When the water took her, she didn't fight it. It was cold and sharp against her body, like knives on her skin, but it didn't hurt. She wasn't frightened. She'd never learned to swim, but she wasn't afraid of water. The water took her under, with her, the whole time. It wouldn't leave her, no matter what. It would stick by her side. The light grew dimmer, shimmering strangely, strangely beautiful. She was fascinated, transfixed. The sky was no longer blue, but it shimmered silently above, her ears full of water, the sounds distorted and muted.

She didn't smile, but she wasn't afraid.

The lights were falling, she was sinking, the show was coming to a close. She could almost cry, but it seemed pointless, with all of this water around.

.

Bonnie was a beauty, she was

Bonnie, with her eyes full of oceans

She smiles at you, she does

Oceans full of souls

Call out to you

Joy and pride

These pains you never see, for it never crosses your mind

Sadness and shame

Guilt and darkness

You're blind to them all

Struck down

By her smile, a tantalising flame

Bonnie, with her hair of brown

Soaring boughs and deep, deep roots, intertwined with humid earth

In Bonnie's eyes

You swear you can see Heaven

You can't see that Bonnie is standing

Centre stage

Living her own personal Hell

Bonnie never learnt to swim, she didn't think she'd need

To fuss and flounder

Against the suffocating blackness

She believed in something else

Something she called love

And softly spoke your name

In Bonnie's eyes

You were the one who held her up, who let her live

And learn to smile

You would keep her safe in your arms, embrace her and let her know

The darkness didn't cry, didn't harm

If you had the patter, patter

Of a softly beating heart

That was yours

All yours

That loved you

Most of all

Bonnie loved you so

She would fall in your arms

And she wouldn't close her eyes

She would kiss your lips

And she would fly away

Oh, that Bonnie girl

How she loved you

Loved you

Most of all;

Now you are without

Your flower tonight

Without that delicate bloom

That comes only once

In a

Lifetime

And your heart pines, grieves

For the loss of Bonnie

Your beautiful angel

Bonnie

Bonnie

Carried away by arms that were not yours

Lost to strange, cooling charms

She drifted too far

From your arms

And you couldn't reach

To bring her back

To tell her

You loved her

Most of all.

Bonnie true

I love you.

.

He parked the car by the side of the road, not even bothering to lock up, and made his way towards the pier, where the cars with flashing lights were gathered, the police and ambulance. His heart blocked out all sound, for a couple of moments, it was just his heart, beating alone, telling him he'd messed up. He'd promised to be there, and he hadn't. He'd lied. He wasn't to cry, to turn away and run. He didn't want to know that she was gone, that he hadn't been there to save her. Anything would be preferable to that. He couldn't face her empty face, her empty eyes. He couldn't face waiting, and her not asking.

The gravel crunched underfoot, but he didn't hear. The wind whistled through the trees surrounding the road, but he heard nothing of what they were saying. Nothing but the loneliness, the emptiness, of one heart beating alone.

If he'd just been a little quicker, if he'd just read the damn signs correctly, done a little background research before allowing himself to be swept up and landed here, if he'd been more of a whatever he was! If he'd just kept his promise, he wouldn't hate himself right now.

_Calm down, Jack_, he told himself angrily. _You don't know anything yet; you don't know she's gone._ Tears prickled his eyes. Oh yes he did! It was clear, clear by the gaping emptiness he felt inside. She was gone, she'd left him. Been cut right out of his heart, his soul, taken by force, kicking and screaming, to the other side. _Time to face the consequences, missy._

His throat burned and everything went a little darker, the sunlight a little dimmer. He should have been there, he should have protected her.

Finally, he found himself standing at the edge of the crowd gathered around the convoy of silently flashing vehicles, curious onlookers. He looked over and saw Aaron, an expression of shock and flabbergast marring his face, giving his side of the story to the police, no doubt.

A girl standing amongst the crowd, at the back, like him, caught his eye. He didn't smile at her. She seemed to imagine he did anyway: she smiled back brightly. Her earthen brown eyes sparkled with sunlight.

He couldn't look her in the eye. He turned away abruptly, and fled. He felt so, so sick. Falling down at the side of the road, he was ill.

It was over now. All over.

The girl standing on the edge of the crowd wasn't looking at those flashing lights, she wasn't anxious or eager, hanging on every word, every gesture. She wasn't even facing the same way as the others gathered 'round. She smiled through her shifting hair, swishing in and out of her vision, blown about by the gathering breeze. Lifting one slender hand, she pressed her fingers to her mouth and blew Jack a kiss, the yellow felt daisy in her hair winking warmly at the sun. "Don't be sad, Daddy," she whispered. "Mommy knew you'd come." Her heart swelled, "Look at you!" The trees sung to her, the grass joined in for the chorus. Dust blew up off the road, people rushed about. "She couldn't leave without a 'goodbye' kiss," the little girl said.

.

A sharp buzzing broke Davis out of his trance. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, just watching Carrie sleeping on the couch, his couch. Someday, it may even be their couch. He'd been sitting their for so long, trying to keep his thoughts at bay, thoughts that hurt because he'd hurt her and he was sure she wouldn't want him anymore. She'd be out that door in a flash, just as soon as she opened her eyes.

The angry buzzing continued, and Davis finally found his feet, moving toward the door without thinking about where he was going or what might be waiting for him when he got there. He was suddenly dizzy, everything was muddled up. He hadn't had anything to drink, yet he sure felt like he had. His head pounded angrily. He reached for the door.

Seeing those two people standing there in their clean, neat uniforms, he knew why he felt so weak, so faint.

.

Harrison remained calm, didn't curse the heavens or turn away, his eyes glimmering with tears. He put a hand on Davis's arm and told him earnestly, what he honestly believed. "She's coming back, Davis."

Sitting on the couch, awake at last, Carrie was silent, her eyes full of tears.

Nodding, Harrison moved past Davis and sat down beside Carrie, leaning forward to catch her eye. "Hey, don't you worry now. Everything's going to be alright."

Carrie's eyes swum with hot tears, something stirring inside their depths. She met his eyes. "I don't know," she whispered, her heart breaking in her voice.

Harrison grinned. "Ah, that's okay!" he told her, patting her knee carefully. "The truth is," he winked at her, "Tru can't leave. Mmm! We have a dinner date. That girl's no heartbreaker!" He shook his head. "In fact, it's Bea's birthday on Saturday. Party time, baby! You kiddin' me! Girl wouldn't miss it for the world!" He lowered his voice. "She's a real party animal. Loves a good party, does my girl. Nah, I'll be lookin' out for that smile, that twinkle in her eye. She'll be there, I know it." He tugged his collar into some semblance of order. "You got to have love, Carrie. You got to have love to live. My sister loves me. She loves _life_!"

Davis watched from the other side of the room, his eyes sad.

Harrison nodded, with more enthusiasm now. "Jackie. Jackie, my boy, he's the one who'll bring her home. She always did like the sad, misunderstood ones."

"Carrie's pregnant," Davis said suddenly.

Carrie's chin shot up, her eyes snapping to his with such force that the tears she'd been studiously holding in flopped about and came dribbling down her cheeks.

"That's fantastic!" Harrison cried. "Congratulations, you two!"

Davis didn't take his eyes from Carrie's. More tears poured down her face, smearing blackened marks down her pale face. She didn't seem to notice.

.

The girl sat in the waiting room, looking down at her bright, neon yellow laces. Her mother thought they were "yucky", and the school dress code didn't allow them, but she didn't care. Her father had got them for her and she loved them. She wore them anyway, woven in with the white laces the school _did_ allow. She always thought of them as the symbolic heart on her sleeve. Her mom could wrinkle her nose like that but Luca knew she'd gone with her father to look for them, when he hadn't been able to find them at the department store.

Sneaking a glance up from her shoes, she shot her gaze across the room to where her father sat, alone and depressed. He looked like he could cry.

She set her feet down on the floor properly and stood up, digging a couple of coins out of her pocket. She walked off, humming _Music in My Soul_: "We were just rebels, we were just stars, tryna put the music in everybody's hearts..." She found the vending machine at the end of the hall and popped in some coins, smiling as she waited, humming to herself.

When the machine had finished its thing, she took out her drink and walked back to the waiting room. She took a seat beside Jack, fighting, with great difficulty, the urge to hum _Put a Little Love in Your Heart_. She knew she had to be discrete. She couldn't just around screaming, "Ohmigawd, Daddy! You're practically a baby! Haw! Shock!" fanning her face incessantly, eyes wide. She could totally do subtle. Totally!

A song she knew (and loved!) came on over the speakers and she swallowed the whine that threatened to bubble up from back of her throat, squeezing her eyes closed tightly until the urge to sing along had died down. _Subtle_, she reminded herself coolly.

She opened her eyes and slid her gaze sideways, hoping to subtly catch Jack's eye. When he looked at her, he'd wonder what was up with the coffee. Geez, she was _eleven_. All the kids she'd asked in her grade (for a lame survey assignment) said their parents wouldn't let them near the stuff!

She widened her eyes and coughed into her fist. She winced, wondering if she should just touch his arm. He had that out of it look in his eye. "Yes, if the rain starts falling, you'll protect me with your coat..."

Finally, he sat up straighter, looking 'round at her.

"Do you want this?" she asked. "I meant to get hot chocolate but I pressed the wrong button." She made a face, shaking her head. "Ugh! I totally hate when that happens."

He frowned.

"It's free," she added.

He took the cup silently.

She grinned and mimed drumming along with the song over the radio. She knew she should have been making tracks, right then, but she liked being here, just hanging out with her dad. Even if he didn't recognise her from next door's.

"That's a nice hair clip," he said, suddenly.

Her eyes widened and she turned to face him. "Thanks," she laughed, silently adding, _Uncle Harrison got it for me._ "My middle name's Daisy," she shrugged. She stood up suddenly. "I think that's my Mom calling. I better be going. It was cool hanging out." She started to wander away.

"Luca!"

Her heart froze in her chest. She turned around slowly, half terrified to meet his eyes, terrified he'd put the puzzle pieces together and figure out who she was. "Yah?"

"Thanks for the coffee," he said, a little blandly.

"I love you, Dad," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, darling?"

Tears messed up her vision, pulling at her heartstrings. "That's okay," she said, more loudly, and turned and walked quickly away, her legs shaking like the traitors they were. Heck, they were half of him, weren't they. And they knew! They _knew_!

.

"Hey, girl!" Vega called out to her.

Luca dropped into a chair across the table and dropped her face into her hands, sighing heavily. Her hands were shaking. "Hey, Ritchie," she whispered back.

Vega stood up and leaned across the table to pat her arm. "You worried about Claude?"

Luca nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak just at that moment.

"Veggie!"

Vega narrowed her eyes as a crumpled up wrapper hit her in the back of the head and muttered darkly, promising, "Someday, boy! Someday!"

Luca shot to her feet, her eyes dark and fierce. "Lay off of her, Reese!"

"Let it go, Luc," Vega told her. "He'll grow out of it."

Luca shot Caleb Reese one last fiery glare before dumping herself back into her chair morosely. "I miss Daddy!" she whispered, staring forlornly at the cafeteria floor.

"I know, sweetie. I know."

"I went to see him," she admitted quietly, sadly. "Mom was in hospital. He looked really sad, like dying would have been better than waiting in that stupid, stuffy room, not knowing."

"But it all works out, Luc," Vega reminded her, offering the other girl a small smile.

Luca grimaced, not quite able to manage a smile.

"Dykes!" Caleb yelled, laughing and snorting with his immature friends.

Vega rolled her eyes, stood up and turned to face him, arms crossed stubbornly. "Go to Hell, Caleb. Just go to Hell," she growled.

"I'm surprised you know what that means, Veggie," Caleb grinned back. "What, you read my mind?" He laughed. "Ooo, black magic!"

"Spooky!" she growled, blue eyes flashing sharply.

"'Don't you worry, honey. It will be okay'," Luca whispered.

Vega put a hand to her throat, tears prickling her eyes. "'One of these days, we're gonna fly away'."

Caleb turned back to his friends, his eyes wide and meaningful. "Ooo, she's puttin' a hex on me now!" He cracked up, his eyes shining bright with amusement.

Luca stood up, her eyes boring holes into Caleb's face. "Some say you're thirteen. I say you're closer to _three_!" she spat.

Vega brushed at her cheeks, wet with tears. "It's okay, baby," she whispered, her voice shaking. "He doesn't really mean it. He's just an idiot boy."

"He's human, too, Vega!" Luca spat. "I hold him _accountable_!"

Vega put a hand to her mouth and spun around, streaking away.

Luca's lip wobbled. "When she gives birth to your children, there _will_ be pain!" she hissed, and turned away quickly, following her cousin out of the cafeteria. She nearly crashed headlong into Mr. Spencer on her way out.

"Slow down, Harper!" he snapped.

She bobbed her head and ignored him, scowling between her teeth, "Whatever!"

.

She couldn't find Vega anywhere. Very real tears threatened to pour from her eyes, shameful tears. She didn't want anyone else to see her cry. She jumped the fence on the school oval and sat down on the footpath, her knees drawn up to her chest, chin rested on top, picking at her shoe laces, trying to pick the yellow from the white. She blinked, rolling her eyes to the top of her head, trying to will those hot tears away by sheer tenacity alone.

She closed her eyes and half-screamed, half-sung _Go Mad_ by Caleb Kane. "I just wanna be near to you, when the things we done come clear to you. And I wanna go mad, I wanna go mad! _I wanna go mad, for a minute!_ I just wanna be in it, I _do_!" She opened her eyes to the blue sky above, screaming at the top of her lungs: "ARGHHHHH!"

Her hand shook, on her shoe laces, and tears spilled from her eyes.

.

Bea picked her way up the sidewalk, frowning along the way. "What's this I hear about some bully picking on you girls?" she asked, stopping and leaning back against the wire fence. She dug Luca's mp3 player out of her pocket, passing it down to the younger girl. "I know him?"

"His name's Caleb Reese," Luca sniffed.

Bea narrowed her eyes, nodding to herself. "I know his older brother." She laughed, rolling her eyes skyward. "I mean, what a _lo-ser_! He thinks his blood runs blue and carries on like a real pork chop." She caught Luca's gaze. "Trust me, it's not! I've seen him bleed. It's regular old red."

"When?" Luca asked.

"He was overdoing it in Gym." She tilted her head. "Blood nose. I told him, 'Go easy.' He just laughed at me like I was mad." She laughed. "Like I could care!"

Luca put her earphones in and switched on her mp3 player, turning it up loud.

"That's too loud, hon. I can hear it from here." Bea hooked her chin the way of the student parking lot. "Come on! Let's go to my car. We can put it over the stereo and turn it up properly. Stuff these jerks."

Luca nodded and stood up slowly, feeling stiff and old. She walked with Bea back to the car park, too hurt to be bothered stepping over the cracks.

"Hey, I forgot to mention. Good news, kiddo! Claude's not expelled."

Luca burst into laughter.

Bea smiled at her and laughed too.

.

Jack was jerked awake by a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He frowned, when he saw who it was. Tru grimaced. "I can't stay here," she told him.

His eyes widened and fear struck his heart. She... she hadn't made it? He was seeing her ghost! And now she was telling him she had to go, she had to cross over.

Tru rested her head against his, closing her eyes. "Never doing that again," she whispered. She moved back, giving a little laugh. She smiled at him shakily, seeing the horror and pain in his eyes. "Hey, everything's alright. I'm alright."

He shook his head, too upset to meet her eyes. "This isn't how I wanted things to go," he whispered, afraid he'd cry in front her. How pathetic!

"Uh-huh!" Tru straightened her back, propping hands on hips.

He looked around, catching her eye.

"You see what I'm wearing?" she asked, smiling pointedly. "I'm thinking a B an' E is in order. You think you can help me with that, Jack? Breaking and Exiting should be a breeze for you, shouldn't it? It's so _you_!"

"You're not dead?" he whispered, his heart beating faster. He didn't want to hope if it turned out to be a false hope, but he couldn't help it. Just couldn't. He stared back into her eyes desperately.

She waved a hand at him dismissively and grabbed his hand. "Just hold my hand, okay."

He nodded, holding onto her hand tightly.

"I didn't say '_amputate_ my hand'!" she whispered, sharing a quick glance with him as they passed the front desk.

He loosened his grip on her hand slightly.

When they hit the footpath outside, she stopped and shivered bodily. "That was intense." She snuck a glance Jack's way. "Sorry. To disappoint. Aw, you didn't get to save me this time!" She laughed, batted a hand at him. "Sorry, that was awful! I give you my full permission to hate me." She shivered again.

Jack stepped closer to her, hoping he might get to hug her, just hold her for a while.

She frowned and stepped away, looking at him weird. "Where did you say you parked the car?"

"I didn't," he replied, wanting to cry without knowing why.

.

"I'm sorry."

"Nah." She wouldn't look at him.

"I should have-"

She shook her head. "No you shouldn't have. I'm the idiot in this mess. _I_ should have!"

"I love you."

"Don't say that."

"I do."

She shook her head, her expression saying she was amused. She stared at the side window, just glad to be heading home. "That's nice." She put a hand to her face, over her eye. "Don't... sulk, Jack. It's not becoming. You don't... do that."

"And you would know?" he whispered miserably.

"No. You picked it perfectly. Bravo! And I don't... I need time to think! When..." She sighed heavily. "When do we arrive at the station?"

"I don't know."

"Come on! You must have some idea," she complained.

"Fifteen minutes. Maybe ten."

"Great!" She crossed her arms, glaring at her window. "Let's just... think to ourselves! Your voice pisses me off right now."

"Why?" Jack asked.

"I don't know!" she burst out frustratedly.

He didn't say anything.

That was fine by her.

.

The train ride took longer than expected. Jack wanted to call Davis, tell him that Tru was okay. The look in her eye stopped him cold. If he touched his phone, she would smack him. Didn't matter if it hurt. He stayed away from his phone.

Tru fell asleep and he touched her arm to wake her, when they arrived. The look she gave him was blood-chilling, said she didn't trust him or his fingers. Why should she? They were Death's fingers. When you need them to hold on, they let go. They couldn't be trusted.

They walked stiffly from the train, the platform, heading for the taxi rank, side by side, but not really there, either of them. Lost in their private thoughts.

On the taxi ride, they didn't speak except to tell the driver where to go. Tru decided she wanted to go straight to the morgue, stuff what anyone else thought.

She dropped her bags on the floor inside the front door, heading straight for Davis's office. "I'm here, I'm alive. Round of applause, anyone?"

Davis and Harrison just stared at her. Then Harrison shook off his strange limblessness and hurtled towards her, throwing his arms around her and hugging her tightly.

Carrie, looking weirdly pale and unresponsive, slipped past the hugging pair, shuffling over in Jack's direction. She stared at her shoes. "I could teach you how to use your phone, if you've forgotten," she muttered. "Shock, or whatever. Whatever. You don't do shock, do you. Stupid." She twisted robotic-like and rested her head on his arm. "I didn't know what happened to you. If you were okay."

"What's the worse that could have happened?" he returned blandly. "People die, Carrie. You know that."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," she sniffed.

"Goes without saying, Care."

"I'm with you," she whispered.

He didn't say anything.

"We called the police but they said you'd been taken to hospital," Davis explained to Tru. "Then the hospital told us you'd been discharged."

"I escaped."

"You what?" Davis asked, a frown appearing on his face.

"I changed some things around on my chart and they let me go home," she told him.

Davis didn't look happy.

Tru shrugged. "I'm fine, Davis. Breathing, got a pulse."

"Hungry?" Harrison wondered. "I'll bet Carrie is!"

Carrie snorted and glared deathly in his direction.

He threw his hands up defensively, laughing it off. "Hey, it's a good thing, doctor! It's a _fantastic_ thing!" He met Tru's frown and smiled. "Carrie's pregnant."

Carrie growled from across the room.

"And antsy," Harrison added. "Hunger pains must be getting to her," he muttered, excusing her almost at once.

Tru wheeled about, a smile fixed to her face, though somewhat unconvincingly. "That's wonderful news, Carrie! I'm happy for you. Davis and you must be so happy!"

"You ask him," Carrie muttered darkly, staring at the floor by Davis's shoes.

Tru turned to Davis, her eyes wide, awaiting his reply.

He frowned. "Yes, happy. We're both very happy. Ecstatic, I should say."

Carrie laughed, but it sounded remarkably similar to choking. Or gagging.

"Can I second that?" Tru asked.

"What?"

"The knocked up thing," she said carelessly.

Harrison's eyes got wide and he stared at his sister. "What?" he murmured, moving to stand in front of her and taking her shoulders in his hands. "Did you just say you're pregnant? I'm going to be an uncle? Again!"

She pulled a face. "Heel, Harry. Don't sound so excited. I'm," she counted on her fingers, "shit all along. Who even knows if it lasts."

Harrison hugged her again.

"Trying to squeeze Pup to death?" Tru muttered.

He let go of her, stepping back to look at her properly. "You look great! Hhh!" He laughed. "Oh, God! We thought we'd lost you, baby girl!" He shook his head, blinking back tears. "Don't be an idiot, Harry," he muttered to himself. "Guys, tears, ruin _everything_!"

Tru shrugged. "You worry too much, Har." She tilted her head. "Not... about the dying thing. I mean the crying thing." She frowned sympathetically, looking to his eyes to make sure he got her meaning.

Harrison nodded. He understood.

"I was worried, too," she admitted. "But it turned out okay." She shrugged. "Shit happens."

"Do I know Pup's father?"

She snorted. "I thought I knew him, a little. Then I saw how wrong I'd been, thinking something like that. Crazy shit, huh? No, Har, you don't know him. I doubt even he knows him."

Carrie straightened suddenly, her eyes flashing in offence. "You think I don't hear what you're saying!" she growled. "You are _so_ wrong!"

Tru laughed, amused. "I doubt that, somehow."

"I don't!" Carrie spat.

Harrison frowned, looking from one woman to the other.

Davis moaned, dropping his eyes to the floor. "Oh, Tru! I'm with you. Right there, honey. By goodness, we are a pack of fools."

Tru shrugged like she couldn't care less if she was branded a fool or not. Davis was right; she had been foolish. She'd been a real dickhead.

"Guys?" Harrison asked, looking lost.

Carrie laughed, shaking her head.

"Shut up, bitch!" Tru spat, turning deadly eyes on her.

Carrie swallowed her laughter in one, her eyes flashing meanly.

Jack stepped in front of her, catching Tru's eye. "Don't."

Tru made a face at him, tilting her head condescendingly. "Who asked for your help, Jack? I didn't hear it. Shit mustn't be real. You must be hallucinating, Jack. Boo. But, I guess, it's not so bad. At least you know what's wrong with you."

He didn't bother replying to that.

"My brother is not mad!" Carrie growled, over his shoulder.

"I beg to differ, sorry," Tru said simply.

"Witch!" Carrie spat.

Davis coughed, looking up at her and catching her eye. "I beg your pardon, Carrie! What a thing to say!"

Carrie stepped around Jack swiftly, eyes flashing, and turned sharply to meet his eye. "He bloody hit me!" She raised a hand, made to smack him over the face, stopped short. "Just like that. It hurt! I couldn't believe it. Thought I must have been... dreaming!" She laughed. "I thought I was crazy!"

"You're not crazy, Carrie. Nobody's crazy."

"I wouldn't say that," Tru spoke up. "You shouldn't say that."

"Oh, give it a rest, Tru," Jack told her tiredly. "You're not yourself. If you're not interested in talking about it and want nothing more than to persist in flinging these thinly-veiled insults higgledy piggledy around the room, then just shut up. Shut up. Don't say anything at all. Better that way."

She laughed. "Go bang your _'__sister__'_!" she sneered meanly.

"I'll bang you in a minute!" Carrie growled. "Right over the head."

"No. You won't," Jack told her.

Carrie pointed at her. "This shit doesn't agree with you," she told Tru seriously. "You'd be better off getting rid of it and sparing yourself the hassle of losing the last few remaining people on this planet who still give a damn about you."

Davis laughed.

Carrie rolled her eyes. "Just a thought," she muttered.

"No." Jack frowned at her angrily.

"What if she turns homicidal?" Carrie asked.

"Sure, Carrie." He dropped the angry look. "Get some sleep."

"I am-" She sighed heavily. "Okay, fine. You're right. This isn't good enough. I'm not a catty bitch. Was never a cheerleader. I should be ashamed of myself. Got it. Can we go now?"

Jack let his gaze rest upon Tru's, waiting to hear her thoughts on this idea. She didn't make any comment. "Yeah," he told Carrie, "we can go now." He nodded to Davis stiffly. "_Adios_, Daddy."

Carrie snorted, falling into step behind Jack. They walked to the door and left the room.

Harrison turned abruptly to Tru. "What was that about, sis?"

Davis ran a hand over his hair resignedly. "It's his baby, Harry. Tru's baby. It's his, too."

Tru crossed her arms over her chest.

"What?"

"Shit happens," Tru muttered, stalking out of the room and looking for something to eat. She was starving.

.

Carrie cried in the cab on the way to Jack's apartment. Jack put an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. "I always wanted a brother," she whispered.

"Great." He sighed. "Yeah, I always wanted a sister. Had one, for a bit. Didn't last."

Carrie sniffed. "I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be."

"I'm sorry."

"You always are, Care."

She sniffed. "Can I stay with you for a while?"

"Any time, little sister."

.

Vega stomped her way to her bedroom, pulling the door open swiftly and slamming it just as swiftly behind her. She dumped her school bag on the floor and shot Claude a dirty glare. "Get the Hell off my bed, Claude!"

"My bad!" he laughed, sitting up and bouncing off her bed, to his feet. "So I see someone's day sucked." He laughed raucously. He did his posh, sophisticated voice. His theatre voice. "Understatement!"

"Get lost!" she growled, pointing to her bedroom door. "Why are you even here?"

"I'm transferring." Back to the old Claude. "Say 'hello' to your new classmate, Vey!"

She pointed to the door again.

He shrugged. "Anyway-"

"Anyway," she mimicked.

"Wow!"

She laughed falsely.

The door opened quietly and Luca slipped into the room. She grimaced. "Salad and chips, Vey! I thought the aliens had taken you!"

"I wish!" Vega muttered depressingly.

"Um..." Claude pointed to the bedroom door.

Luca closed it.

Claude shrugged. "So, I'm transferring," he informed Luca. "Guess where to?"

She waved a hand at him. "Bea told me."

"Son of a-!" He smiled. "Gotta love good, ole Bea!" he laughed.

Vega brushed at her eyes, sighing.

"I'll be off then," Claude said.

Luca nodded, stepping closer to hug him. "Get home safely, okay. No more starting fights."

He grinned, shaking his head of shaggy auburn hair. "Nah. 'Sides, I didn't start the last one. I just ended it."

Luca shook her head. "Don't punch anyone!" she rephrased.

He gestured shooting a gun. "Gotcha!"

"I hope so," she muttered.

"Ya know so."

"Do not," she snapped, to the carpet.

"Later," Claude nodded to Vega. She didn't come over to hug him. He left, closing the door after him again.

"Are you okay?" Luca asked, as soon as the door snapped quietly shut.

"I'm fine, Luc. Don't fluster me!"

Luca frowned. She crossed her arms, shaking her head. Then she turned and walked out too.

Vega rolled her eyes, lying back on her bed, staring up at the happy family photographs there. Her eyes lingered on a photo from her parents' wedding in Las Vegas. It was the only one she had. The only one anyone had. Happy families? She closed her eyes. Yeah, right.

.

Luca sat at the kitchen table, listening to the afternoon news playing from the radio on the sideboard. "How's Uncle Jensen finding his new job?" she asked Meredith.

"Hates it! You know Jensen." She smiled, fingering the plain, unadorned silver chain she wore around her neck. For a moment or two, her thought wandered to someplace else. Then she brought her eyes back to Luca's. "How was school, sweetie? Bea gave me the run down."

Luca nodded. "That boy's a bad egg. One of these days, he's going to push someone too far and land a fist in his face. It sounds extreme, I know, but I honestly wouldn't shed any tears for him."

"Yeah. It can be hard," Meredith agreed. "I'll... try to talk to Vega later. She's practically fuming, I bet."

"Yeah!" Luca laughed.

Meredith opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of fruit juice smoothie, pouring Luca and herself a glass each, and returned the bottle to the fridge.

Luca sipped her smoothie. "Do you think Mom and Dad will be okay?" she asked, at last.

"Yeah. Of course they will," Meredith reassured her. "They love each other." She couldn't help but smile, thinking about the two of them. "They're still very much in love, sweetheart. I promise."

.

Harrison caught Davis's eye. "I said it, didn't I?" he laughed. "Oh, Jackie boy! And now _this_..."

* * *

><p><strong>I'd love to hear your thoughts. *smiles*<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

"The way Davis was looking at you, Care... What did you tell him?"

Carrie took a deep breath, staring at her knees. They were sitting on the couch in Jack's apartment, waiting to hear from Richard, to hear from anyone. He wouldn't like that Tru and Davis now knew of Carrie's involvement with 'Death's' side. He'd be furious, beyond, even. Carrie brought a hand up to her face, brushed her forehead with shaky fingers. Her skin felt clammy, wrong. She put her hand down, clasping her hands in her lap. "I told him... the truth..." she whispered. "I told him... I get these feelings, sometimes..."

Jack frowned, noticing the way her hands were trembling in her lap. "Feelings? What do you mean by that, Care?"

"I didn't overhear Richard talking on the telephone, Jack. I got a 'feeling'..."

"You're..."

"I think so." Her eyes got watery.

"Care-!"

She shook her head lightly. "I didn't know, Jack! I never knew! When I saw him in that tub," she covered her mouth with a hand, "so still... and white... I wanted to help! I didn't want him to be... dead! But he pleaded with me not to..." her voice broke, "not to help!" Tears slid down her face. She shook her head, her eyes shining as the memories came flooding back.

She lifted her face, trying her hardest to meet Jack's eyes, but she couldn't do it. Instead, she stared pleadingly at the wall over his shoulder. "He'd been... hurt. As a child. And he never... he never forgot, he never came to terms with it. It lived with him, every day, every breath he took, it was there... with him." Her eyes cut to Jack's suddenly. "_I never knew!_"

Jack took hold of her hand, squeezing it lightly. "You loved him, Carrie. Sometimes, that's all you can do."

"We were going to..." she dragged an unsteady breath into her lungs, "I was pregnant... but I couldn't keep it! I got sick. I lost it. The... the doctors said I might never... might never get a second chance!" A tear rolled from her eye. "I can't believe... I can't believe what I said to Tru. I'm furious at myself! I feel sick! I... I'm so sorry! I'll... I'll go see her, I'll tell her! I'll make her see that I was wrong in saying what I did. So fucking wrong! I'm sorry!"

"Hey! I'm not angry at you anymore." Jack caught her eye, holding her gaze. "Hmm?"

She nodded, tears wobbling in her eyes.

"I know that much, Carrie. I know you'd never want to see a child harmed. And I don't think... I don't think you're... You're Carrie. You're my friend. There's nothing about you that would make you unlovable to me, Carrie. Nothing!"

"I... I should get her something. Flowers, maybe. I'll go to her, I'll... I'll talk to her. She'll understand!"

"I know she will, Care."

Carrie nodded, smiling at him weakly. She had to. She just... _had_ to!

.

Jensen could hear his mother's voice on the answering machine, but he didn't go to pick up the phone. Adele Ritchie could wait, for once.

He stared at his hands. There was nothing wrong with them, they weren't even shaking now, but he remembered, remembered when they had once, a long time ago...

Lily was his cousin, the daughter of his mother's sister, Ann. Her name was actually Lily-Ann, but she always went by Lily. She'd come with her mother. It was his mom's birthday. He remembered thinking how sad it was. His mother hadn't smiled once, she'd been pointing fingers and barking all morning, but she hadn't smiled once. Lily was his mother's complete opposite, it seemed. She'd been all smiles from the moment she'd set foot in the house, she'd even had a smile for him.

He'd smiled back a little, but not too much. His mother got angry when he smiled too much. Well, if it was her he was smiling at, that was okay, but anyone else. She told him it made him look funny, like he had something wrong with him. The word she used was 'strange', but he wasn't ignorant. He knew what she meant.

His mother was inside, laughing. He could hear her high, tinkling laughter. She was smiling, probably, the centre of attention. But he couldn't stay, he'd had to go outside. His mother hated when he stared – another of his 'strange' habits – and she usually sent him away to unwind, to come back to himself. He'd wanted to tell her he loved her, wanted to tell her she hadn't smiled all week, how could he help but be taken aback when she did – how could he _not_ look?

She hadn't even had to say anything this time. A subtle narrowing of her eyes, a thinning of her lips, and he'd been heading for the door.

He didn't go to his room; he went out into the backyard instead. He knew the back gardens by heart. He could even close his eyes and still find his way to where he wanted to be. Now, his eyes fluttered closed and he sung quietly to himself: "Happy Birthday to you..." He wished he could have been there to sing the words so his mother would hear, but he'd only ruin her 'big' day, and that would mean a whole load of unhappiness for his mom and dad, not just for him. He couldn't be _that_ selfish. Selfishness was a sin, his mother always said, and he believed her. Selfishness wasn't a kind thing, that was the truth.

A breeze rustled through the garden, bringing a new sound to his ears, and he frowned. This sound was high and tinkling, but it wasn't laughter. It was small, desperate. He opened his eyes wide... and there was Lily, blood coating her hands, smeared on her face, even, blood all over her legs, staining the white of her party dress dark.

Jensen froze. The breeze had disappeared, the backyard was deathly still. Lily's eyes were wide and full of tears, an ocean of pain lay in those eyes. Jensen couldn't move. He couldn't even speak, his throat felt wrong, incapable of words, of consolation. All of that blood felt painful, he could tell. He almost wanted to flinch himself.

Lily sobbed brokenly, reaching a bloody hand out to him, her eyes pleading: Please help me, baby! Please get help!

He didn't turn and run back to the house. He stepped closer to Lily, to all of that blood.

.

His mother was as white as Lily had been, back in the garden. She shook all over, her eyes dark with anger. And pain.

The blood still covered his hands, but it had dried by now.

"It's not _natural_, Daniel!" his mother spat. "The boy isn't natural! He's _wrong_! I can't- I can't do it! I _won__'__t_! I won't have him under my roof any longer. God knows I've tried, but he's just not fixable. For Lord's sake, Daniel! Don't you _see_? He's the _Devil__'__s_ child!"

His parents were in the other room, arguing in angry whispers.

"He's our child, Adele! _Our_ child!" his father whispered, holding back his hurt. "He's only a child, for God's sake!"

"He's a demon, Daniel!" Adele hissed meanly.

"Lily's fine!" his father pleaded with her to see reason. "He didn't do anything to her! _She's fine!_"

"I can't listen to this! I won't stand here and listen to you defend the Devil's spawn, Daniel! I refuse! I... I've had all I can take! I'm leaving! I'm leaving, and you'll never hear from me again!"

"Adele! Adele, please!"

Jensen put his hands up to cover his ears, afraid of the pain in his father's voice, afraid of hearing his mother's footsteps disappear forever, never to return. He didn't know how his mother could expect him to see his cousin in pain and just walk away, and just do nothing, but apparently that was what she'd expected. And he'd failed her.

Adele Ritchie was a hard, hard woman. But his father loved her anyway. Jensen wished he could love her too, but in that moment, he couldn't even remember what her smile looked like, what her love felt like.

She hated him, and now, because of _him_, she hated his father too!

.

Jensen blinked away his tears and stood up. He couldn't stay here anymore, in this apartment. He needed to get out.

.

Carrie didn't enjoy seeing Davis like this, she didn't like seeing the conflict eating him up inside. She could tell he was regretting having told her Tru's secret, now. She didn't know how to make it better for him, not one single comfort came to mind. He would have to break the news to Tru himself, she couldn't go around him and do it, she couldn't stab a knife in his back like that. His pain was her pain, too, and she would have to take it. She had no other choice.

Reaching for her cup, she frowned when she saw someone else had picked it up. Tru's weird boyfriend, Jensen. She'd always got a funny vibe from him. With that hair, he looked more suited as a surfer than a doctor, yet that was what he wanted to be. It didn't fit, didn't sit right, in her mind. She contemplated just letting it go. Somehow, she didn't feel comfortable asking for her drink back. Not from him.

He set the drink back down on the table quickly and covered his mouth with a hand, coughing.

A smile twisted Carrie's mouth.

Jensen caught her eye awkwardly and smiled back. "Sorry, was that yours?"

She widened her eyes silently. Yup!

"It's good stuff. Strong, but... good."

She ignored his attempt to get her talking, reached past him to take her drink, and walked off. Wow! What a weirdo!

.

"Don't look so worried, Har," Tru told him, "I'm not getting rid of my baby. I'm still deciding what to do with Jack. I might call up Dad and ask him to get rid of the pest for me, but I'd never hurt a baby." She made a face. "Anyway, self mutilation's not my style."

Harrison smiled, walking over and hugging her.

She sighed heavily and patted his back gingerly. "Sorry, Har. I should have... resisted."

"If it's meant to be, it's meant to be, Tru," Harrison said. "I always knew it'd be hard. You know, with you guys. I never said anything, I _know_, but you can imagine I'm kicking myself right now for that. I am. You just... work too damn well together, you know. I know I shouldn't be admitting this, but you're perfect for each other. Or... rather... you would be. If Jack wasn't one of Death's henchmen. You'd be a real pair."

"You're right," Tru told him. "Shut up."

He laughed. "Sorry."

"My bad, not yours. I'm so Goddamn suggestible. Just thinking about that idiot makes me miss him. Are you gagging yet?" She laughed at herself.

When Davis walked in, they were both laughing pretty hard. Davis frowned and cleared his throat.

Harrison patted Tru's shoulder and threw Davis a nod. "We're good, man."

Davis scratched his neck nervously. What, and he didn't qualify to know what was so funny?

"Sorry, D," Tru gasped, "but it doesn't bear repeating! I'm afraid you'd be scarred for life, poor hon!"

"I see."

She giggled.

Davis merely crossed his arms awkwardly, walking to his desk and leaning back against the filing cabinet. Well, the pair of them seemed to have perked up, at least. They were all smiles.

.

Jack shook Carrie away, sitting down beside her on the couch when she sat up. He nodded in the direction of the bedroom. "You'd best take the bed. I'm not really used to it, anyway." He patted the back of the couch. "Miss my couch." He laughed.

"Are you sure?" Carrie asked.

"Yeah. Go. We can't hurt Baby."

She rested a hand on her middle. The baby wasn't showing yet, but it would be very soon now. She had to be at least three months along. Soon even Richard would know, if he cared to look.

She stood up slowly, sighing, and walked to the bedroom.

.

Tru got into bed and lay down, her eyes going to the window. She'd been waiting for Jack to call but, somehow, she didn't think he would call. When it came to having his own life, he wasn't one to struggle against what was. He pestered her black and blue when it was for work, but when it was personal, he didn't make a peep. He merely resigned himself to Fate. She couldn't stop the annoyance that washed over her. He was just so damned... strange! Didn't he ever want someone for himself? What was wrong with him? Did he think he didn't deserve it, because that was complete rubbish! Of course he did. Even _he_ did.

And she missed him. Even a call would help, hearing his voice would help. She didn't even care what he said, if he slagged her off. He could say what he wanted and she'd still be smiling, remembering that he wasn't so fierce when they were alone.

She closed her eyes, telling herself he'd ring in the morning. He would.

.

Meredith frowned, walking to the front door. It was late. She was tired. She'd put Bea to bed and read her a picture book. She'd fallen asleep in a chair next to her daughter's bed, and to remind her, her neck ached now. Her back wasn't exactly ecstatic, either, but her neck hurt more, so she was, unfortunately, concentrating on that now.

She unlocked the door and stepped back to open it. "Jensen?"

"Do you mind if I come in?" he asked.

_What have you done?_ she almost asked. _Whose car did you heist?_ "Yeah... I mean, no." She shook her head, then wished she hadn't. Ouch! "Come in."

"Thanks." He looked at her face. "Are you okay? I didn't drag you away from something good, did I?" He laughed a little. "Uh, sleep?"

She leant over to close the door. "No. It's fine. I... I don't sleep well sitting up anyway, so... it was for the best." She started off in the direction of the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"

"A glass of water."

She nodded. "So, ah..."

"Yeah..."

"Have... have you come to talk?"

"If you like."

She pushed some stray blonde hair behind her ear. "Or..."

"Or." He smiled faintly, sort of sadly. "The little one, she's doing okay?"

"Bea. Oh, yeah, she's great. Sleeping, at the moment." She took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water at the sink, passing it to him. "You're right?"

"I think so," he agreed.

She picked at the corner of a fingernail, looking at the fridge as he drank his water. She turned away to make sure she'd tightened the tap enough so it wouldn't drip. "Do you... do you want to stay?"

He frowned. "Would that be okay?"

"Y-yes!" She smiled with a happy little huff, then reached for his empty glass. He let her take it and she placed it down in the sink, turning back to him, chewing a corner of her lip. She shuffled closer and lifted her arms up, draping them over his shoulders. "I'm glad you came by tonight," she said.

He smiled a little and kissed her. So was he. So was he.


End file.
